


A Ghost Story

by thegirlwiththemouseyhair



Series: Ghost Story Continuity [1]
Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Haunting, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Love Triangles, M/M, Suicide, Triggers, World War I
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-13
Updated: 2014-09-09
Packaged: 2018-01-24 15:31:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 37,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1610147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegirlwiththemouseyhair/pseuds/thegirlwiththemouseyhair
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thomas Barrow fell in love with Edward Courtenay while serving as a medic at the Downton Cottage Hospital during the Great War. Years later, Lieutenant Courtenay falls in love with Thomas when Thomas is back in that same hospital. But Lieutenant Courtenay killed himself in 1917, which complicates matters, as does the rival he finds in Jimmy Kent…</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very loosely inspired by Kaxen's Being Human AU idea on Tumblr - I'm not familiar with Being Human, but this fandom needs more of Edward Courtenay, alive or as a ghost, and a ghostly love triangle was too good to resist (with all due respect to Are are's Hauntsverse, which this resembles hardly at all.) Other than that, I'm not sure where this idea came from, though I do know it has been haunting me all day at work. (It's an appropriately spooky day, too - I love when Friday the 13 falls on a Tuesday.) And I am saying this is chapter 1/1 for now, but there may well be more where this came from.

He saw him by the window of the hospital ward. The sight set Thomas’s heart pounding.

“Sir,” he called. Even in this state he wasn’t about to forget his manners, though the words came out as a haggard whisper. _Bloody influenza_.

He tried again. “Lieutenant…”

“What’s he on about?” Thomas heard Jimmy asking. That was strange: the hospital was only for officers. Thomas would have heard if Jimmy was wounded, if they’d made some exception for him, so he could be near Downton…

Something nagged at the back of Thomas’s brain, as if he were forgetting a vital piece of information. But it couldn’t really be _vital_ , could it? Not if he’d forgotten it. Besides, Jimmy sounded strong and healthy, if a little agitated. But Lieutenant Courtenay… Thomas thought he had killed himself. That wasn’t possible, of course, not when the Lieutenant was right there, had heard Thomas and was making his way across the ward with his stick.

Thomas thought he must have _attempted_ suicide, but Nurse Crawley or one of them – perhaps even Thomas himself – had stopped him. That must be it. God, how could Thomas forget the details? But he smiled as Courtenay sat down in one of the chairs beside him.

“Thank God you’re all right,” Thomas murmured. Courtenay _couldn’t_ die by his own hand, not after everything he’d managed to survive.

“I’m more concerned about you right now,” Courtenay said. They clasped hands. Thomas thought for a second that his friend’s hand was cold, before realizing that must be his own fault. _He_ was the one with the fever, after all.

“What’s going on?” Jimmy asked. His voice shook, as if he were shivering.

Thomas wanted to comfort him – or maybe laugh. To be surrounded by two men he loved desperately, and wanted so desperately to impress… This was very awkward indeed. He wondered what he should say. It would have been quite a tightrope to walk even if he were feeling well.

“He has a bad fever,” he heard Doctor Clarkson say from somewhere behind Thomas’s head. “He’s delirious. Nothing he’s saying matters.”

 _Sod off_ , Thomas thought. _I’m fine and I know what I’m saying. Just leave me alone with the people I_ care _for._ Besides, Clarkson had tried to send Lieutenant Courtenay away, precipitating the suicide attempt.

“I don’t like to hear him like that,” Jimmy said worriedly. “It’s a bad sign, isn’t it? Talking to people who aren’t there.”

Thomas shook his head. “Jimmy, don’t.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Courtenay said. “You should save your strength.”

His tone was caring but firm; Thomas could hear in his voice the commanding officer he had been until recently.

Thomas wanted to say something witty and clever, but nothing came to mind.

“Thank you, sir,” he whispered, squeezing Courtenay’s hand harder. _Edward_.

“You should go back to sleep,” Courtenay went on. “I’ll be right here. I don’t mind sitting with you, for a change; I’ve heaps of time…”

Thomas nodded and closed his eyes. A deep cough rose in his chest, made his ribs ache and forced him to raise his head from the pillow. He felt gentle hands helping him to lie down again, and was unconscious before he could even say thanks.

***

Jimmy sat drumming his fingers on the armrest of the chair in the little sitting room. Doctor Clarkson had shooed him out of the ward, saying that Mr. Barrow needed to sleep and that visitors wouldn’t do him any good just now. It wasn’t a very satisfying order, however, which was why Jimmy found himself sitting alone in the dim, disused room.

He closed his eyes and leaned back against the chair. Really, it were awful seeing Mr. Barrow so broken and unwell. It reminded Jimmy of that horrible fair at Thirsk the year before. He preferred not to think of that incident.

A sudden draught disturbed his brief rest and made him shudder. Jimmy’s eyes snapped open. Even in the dimness he could see a tall, slim young man in an officer’s uniform standing by the door and holding a cane. He seemed to be staring right at Jimmy.

But as Jimmy grew accustomed to the dim light he realized that this man could not be looking at him, or at least couldn’t be _seeing_ him. The officer’s eyes were unfocused and he had telltale blistering and scarring on his pale face. _Blind,_ Jimmy thought. _From the gas in the war_.

How a blind man could have gotten here so quickly and silently was beyond Jimmy. _Maybe I dozed off for a few minutes. There’s nothing to do when you’re visiting a friend in a hospital..._

“It’s kind of you to stay,” the officer said. “You’re a good friend to him – and you’re alive.” Jimmy could hear the bitterness in the other man’s voice, though he was speaking nonsense. “Your heart’s beating, which is far more than I can offer…”

 _What?_ Jimmy thought. _Am I in a nightmare, or mad? Or are you mad, mister whoever you are?_ Jimmy had heard of men who never, ever recovered from the shell shock. He wondered if the white-faced officer was like that – not quite right in the head from the war, poor bloke.

He was about to ask a polite “who are you?” when he heard footsteps nearby. A woman’s heels were clicking on the stone floor outside the sitting room. Jimmy realized with a start that he was sprawling on his chair in front of someone who was clearly a member of the upper classes, and dragged himself to a standing position just as Mrs. Hughes burst in the door.

For a moment she stood right beside the young officer, though she said nothing to acknowledge his presence. Jimmy stared at them. Then Mrs. Hughes took a brisk look around her, found the electric light switch and jerked it on. Light flooded the room.

Jimmy gasped. The officer was gone, disappeared.

“Really, I know you’re worried, James,” Mrs. Hughes said, “but there’s still no reason to hide in the dark. You could have turned a light on.”

Jimmy made no reply, just stood by the chair and shoved his hands in his pockets to hide their shaking. Mrs. Hughes frowned.

“Are you all right, James? You needn’t be so startled; I told you I’d be down to check on Mr. Barrow and collect you.”

“Of course,” Jimmy managed. God in heaven, he’d forgotten. The disappearing soldier had startled him into forgetting Thomas for a whole minute or two.

“I just thought that if I waited, Doctor Clarkson might have some good news,” he added. _You know, he woke up and he’s fine now. Then I could go home and not worry like this._

“So he does,” Mrs. Hughes said, as a small, bemused smile pulled at her mouth. “But you won’t have heard anything hiding here. Mr. Barrow woke up from a rest and his fever’s much improved.”

Relief washed over Jimmy. He willed his legs to stop trembling, and almost succeeded.

“I thought we might say goodnight before heading back,” Mrs. Hughes suggested.

“Yes, I’d like that,” Jimmy replied, a little too eagerly, then hurried to join her.

***

Jimmy could have danced for joy when he saw Thomas awake and smiling, and heard Clarkson’s report, and even touched Thomas’s hand briefly. Thomas was still very tired, of course. Jimmy wouldn’t stay too long – he didn’t need to now. He laughed at the joke Thomas made about demanding a rematch for their last game of cards, the evening he had taken so ill, and wished Thomas a cheerful goodnight before he had a chance to exhaust him.

Mrs. Hughes was waiting outside, having delivered her good wishes more promptly. Jimmy grinned at her. He hoped he looked _normal_ , not soppy or giddy or worried. But he couldn’t resist one backward glance at the ward.

His mouth dropped open. The blind soldier was sitting on Thomas’s bed, holding Thomas’s head in his lap and running his slim, ghostly white fingers through Thomas’s dark hair.


	2. Chapter 2

Edward stayed with him the whole time he was ill. They became so intimate it seemed absurd to call him anything else, at this point. They didn’t go to bed together – Thomas wouldn’t have had the strength, and there was always the chance that Clarkson or a nurse would pass by – but they were intimate in every other way. No matter how ill Thomas was he had Edward beside him, cradling Thomas’s head in his lap or holding his hand to comfort him.

“It’s a bit strange, isn’t it?” Thomas asked once, when the fever was down for a few minutes. “Me being the medic and all.”

Edward smiled sadly.

“The roles have reversed themselves,” he said, and patted Thomas’s hand.

Later that day (at least Thomas thought it was later in the same day), his fever rose again. He shivered and coughed, and cursed the coughing fits that forced him up where he couldn’t bury himself completely beneath the blankets. God, he wished they’d give him another dose of whatever they were using to keep the fever at bay…

As if in answer to his prayer, a nurse passed by – not a girl he recognized ( _how long have I been ill?_ ) – and helped him to take some medicine. But he was still racked with chills when she left and he collapsed back onto the pillow.

Edward said nothing, but lay down beside Thomas, pressing close against him on the small cot.

“I just wish I could make you feel warmer,” he said.

Thomas shook his head.

“Really, we should be careful,” he rasped. “Someone might see us.”

There would be no way to explain themselves, no way their closeness could look remotely proper. Even in his weakened state Thomas was rather shocked at Edward’s enthusiasm, his utter lack of caution.

“They won’t,” Edward said. “They really won’t.”

Thomas didn’t understand what he meant, but nodded anyway, too tired to argue, and closed his eyes against Edward’s shoulder. He could feel Edward stroking his cheek with his fingers before leaning in to kiss his lips.

“I think I’m a little in love with you,” Edward murmured. Thomas wasn’t even sure if he was supposed to hear or not. The words brought a smile to his face just the same.

“I was so afraid at first,” Edward continued, “of the law, of what my family would say… But I’m not now, you know.”

Thomas wanted to ask what had changed, why Edward was not only willing to acknowledge his feelings, but was being _so_ incredibly foolhardy now. And yet, somehow, it didn’t seem worth the effort.

“I didn’t even think you were like me,” Thomas said. “I thought you were sweet on Nurse Crawley.”

“I would have preferred that, at the time,” Edward said. _What time?_ Thomas wondered. Then he felt Edward’s soft, cool lips on his own once again. _Never mind_ …

He kissed Edward back, before another thought struck him.

“You’ll take sick,” he said.

Edward laughed. The sound was rich and gentle against Thomas’s cheek.

“I won’t,” he replied. “I promise.”

*

When Thomas woke up the next morning his head still ached, and his throat still felt like a ball of flame, but he was lucid, and knew he’d be all right this time.

He smiled a little when he remembered Jimmy and Edward worrying about him. Even Mrs. Hughes had been by the night before, around the time his fever broke, and he thought he remembered Daisy stopping by during one of his better hours. They weren’t bad sorts. It was funny to think how worried they’d all been, as if he was really about to die. He wasn’t.

Of course he wasn’t. Thomas was a fighter. At least, he fought for himself, always had; he would never have allowed himself to die now, after surviving the trenches, and of anything as silly or trivial as the flu. It wasn’t even the deadly one that had gone around after the war. Besides, he had never been so loved or so happy in his life. With Edward and Jimmy around him…

And then, for the first time in days, he remembered. He hadn’t _known_ Jimmy during the war. He’d started at Downton years after its end, after the Spanish flu – and Edward’s suicide –

Thomas went cold again, as cold as he’d been during the worst of the fever. Edward was still sitting beside him.

“What day – what year is it?” he asked, cringing at how stupid he sounded.

But Edward didn’t seem to think it was stupid. He frowned, and said very seriously, “I believe it’s the winter of 1922. But you’d be a better judge of that than I am, if you were well.”

“What are you talking about?” Thomas demanded. Something was terribly, terribly wrong; he had either been far more ill than he’d realised, or woken from a nightmare lasting several years, or…

“You tried to kill yourself,” he said, blinking and groping for Edward’s hand. For the first time it occurred to him that the other man’s skin was freezing. “That was, what, 1917 when I worked here… You slit your wrists and tried to kill yourself…”

Edward looked down.

“I’m afraid I did more than that,” he said quietly. There was a note of deep pain in his voice, though he was too well-bred to let it show very much. Thomas remembered that tone. _Sir, please don’t send me away – not yet._

“I succeeded.”

Thomas opened his mouth to speak, but could say nothing. He wanted to deny it. Really, he wanted more than anything to say that Edward was talking nonsense; perhaps he, too, had taken sick with that fever.

And yet, something was _so_ wrong. Perhaps there was something supernatural at work.

“You’re a ghost or something?” Thomas squeaked. God, he didn’t mean to sound like that. He wasn’t even scared, not really. Edward was still Edward. At least, Thomas supposed so. He’d been so kind to Thomas when Thomas was ill.

Edward didn’t answer at first. Well, the subject might be a touchy one, now that Thomas thought of it. He remembered hearing some stupid superstition about suicides returning as ghosts or whatever. ( _Then again, maybe it’s not that stupid_ …) The question might bring up unpleasant memories.

Thomas took a deep breath. He couldn’t believe he was even thinking all this. Maybe he’d wake up now from the most vivid fever dream he had ever had. Yet he could swear he was _with_ Edward. This wasn’t just pretending to believe in spirits and Ouija boards to pass the time or tease Daisy and the other younger maids. He was lying beside Edward, talking with him and holding his icy hand five years after his death.

“I suppose I am,” Edward replied at long last.

A thousand questions ran through Thomas’s brain.

“But I’m touching you,” he said. “How’s that possible? And you were buried far away from here. I remember; your mother and brother took your body home to be buried. I’d have visited otherwise, you know.” It was morbid, ridiculous; he _must_ be dreaming. Still he clutched Edward’s hand more tightly. “Have you been here at the hospital all this time?”

“Since I died? No, not all that time,” Edward said.

Well, that much might make sense: there had never been any reports of ghost sightings near the hospital in all these years. Then again, it was difficult to say that anything about Thomas’s present situation made sense.

“I just wanted to see you,” Edward added. “I think I knew you were back here, somehow. I knew you weren’t well.”

“Well, I –” Thomas hesitated. He wasn’t used to baring his soul for anyone, not even his lovers. But Edward was so tender with him, and apparently he wasn’t even alive anymore. What harm could there be?

“I’m really grateful. It meant a lot to me, having you here.”

Thomas really thought that Edward and Jimmy had helped him through his illness just by being there for him. It seemed sort of ironic, with Edward being dead these five years.

“I’d never want to see you suffering,” Edward said.

Thomas grinned at that. He liked to think of himself as a man who rolled with the punches, who made the best of things. He supposed there were worse problems than being in love with a ghost – a literal one, not just a memory or something; a real ghost who could sit beside him and talk with him in a haunted hospital. _I wonder if he can disappear if he likes or whatever ghosts are supposed to do._ Perhaps waking up feeling well for the first time in ages had made Thomas unduly optimistic.

“Thanks,” he said. Then he grimaced a little, poured himself some water from the pitcher with his free hand. (The injured one – someone had pulled the glove off while he was sick. He looked around a moment before seeing it on the bedside table under some papers.)

“I hope I didn’t startle you,” Edward murmured. He sounded like a shy boy asking his schoolmaster for a favour. Thomas stifled a laugh.

“It’s fine,” he said. He thought _I still love you_ , and was about to broach the subject, when Doctor Clarkson and a nurse entered the ward.

“Mr. Barrow,” Clarkson said as he approached. He barely lifted his eyes from the papers he was holding, which was just as well: it gave Edward a moment to drop Thomas’s hand and sit straight back in his chair.

Then Clarkson did look up. He seemed to take in Thomas’s face, the colour that had no doubt come back into his cheeks and that would assure him of the progress Thomas had made.

Then the doctor’s eyes drifted to Edward. He blanched.

“Good – morning,” Clarkson said, blinking and making a clear effort to look away from Edward.

Thomas wanted to laugh. He looked over at Edward, tried to catch his eye, then realized that Edward was still blind, even as a ghost. _Well if he doesn’t see the effect he’s having, I’ll be sure to tell him after._

“You’re l– looking well,” Clarkson continued. Thomas had never heard him stammering like that.

“Much better,” Thomas replied.

“I’m very glad,” Clarkson said. “I was quite worried, you know, as were your friends. You had a severe pneumonia that settled into your lungs after the influenza…”

He went on for a bit about Thomas’s recovery – that he should drink plenty of water and take plenty of rest before going back to work.  Thomas agreed, politely, to everything.

“I must also ask you not to smoke for a while,” Clarkson said.

Thomas scowled. He made a point to stare at the wall, hoping Clarkson wouldn’t see him looking petulant and all but rolling his eyes.

Too late.

“I believe it’s been hindering your recovery,” Clarkson lectured him. “There’ve been some articles to that effect in the Lancet and some of the American journals, and I would like to see you try cutting it down. You need only let up for a short time – but I want to see if it can help you.”

“Very well,” Thomas said, when he could trust himself not to be rude. He succeeded, more or less. Clarkson furrowed his brow, but glanced over at Edward and seemed to realize there were more things on heaven and earth to worry about than Thomas’s thinly veiled petulance.

“I appreciate your care,” Thomas added. It sounded sarcastic to his own ears; he hoped it would seem less so to Clarkson’s.

“Well, your friends up at the Abbey were concerned about you – and thought it unusual for you to take so ill,” Clarkson said, choosing to give Thomas a pass. Thomas bristled a little at the reference to his friends. He didn’t really have friends at the Abbey, excepting Jimmy of course. The Granthams had probably wished him well, but that was more _noblesse oblige_ than really caring about him or anyone downstairs. And Daisy and Mrs. Hughes were decent sorts, but that was all.

“I understand Mr. Kent’s been making the trek over twice a day, in his off hours,” Clarkson went on.

Thomas’s ears pricked up at that. Even if Jimmy would never be more than a friend to him, seeing him and hearing his voice still made Thomas’s stomach do flip flops. He liked that even Clarkson had remarked their friendship; it made Thomas proud, somehow.

He glanced over at the clock on the wall. Jimmy normally had a bit of a break, now, and from what Thomas had inferred, the rest of the staff were understanding with him coming down to the hospital so often.

“Is he coming now?” Thomas asked. He tried not to sound too excited, but saw Edward grimace a little all the same.

“He’s in the waiting room,” Clarkson said. “I’ll tell him that you’re much improved and alone.”

Then he went quiet, flicking another nervous gaze in Edward’s direction. He nodded at Thomas before leaving the room far more quickly than he usually would.

“Do you mind if I stay?” Edward asked when they were alone again.

“’Course not,” Thomas said.

Edward shifted in his chair.

“Really, I can go if you prefer,” he said.

“Well – will he see you?” Thomas asked. _He_ knew Edward, and trusted him as a ghost just as he’d loved and trusted him when he was alive, but the sight of him might give Jimmy a bad turn. Thomas would hate that.

“He might,” Edward said. “I think he would. I can leave for a bit, to make things easier.”

And just like that he disappeared, leaving behind an empty chair. Thomas opened his mouth in shock. _Jesus_ , he thought. _I guess he_ can _do that_.


	3. Chapter 3

Jimmy bolted up to his own room before heading to the hospital. It was a vain, silly thing to do, especially when he had so few breaks during the day, and he knew it. But then, he didn’t want to look awful when he saw Mr. Barrow – Thomas. He didn’t want to look worried, or worry Thomas more, or make a fool of himself for whatever reason. So he took the back stairs two at a time for a quick peek in the mirror before starting his trek.

What he saw disappointed him. He _already_ looked awful. His hair was mussed (from running up the damn stairs, no doubt) and there were large, dark circles under his eyes. He looked as if he too had taken sick with something. Perhaps Thomas would think that and feel badly.

Jimmy, of course, knew better what was wrong with him. He just couldn’t sleep these days. It had been difficult ever since Thomas came down with that horrible flu. But at least when he’d been at Downton Jimmy was able to look out for him a bit. Then when the flu had turned into pneumonia and Thomas was taken to the hospital – well – that was the worst. Not seeing him and not knowing how he was had been almost too much to bear, which was why Jimmy had taken to making the journey down to the hospital twice a day. It didn’t matter how long it took or how late it was when he got back.

He’d been overjoyed the night before. Thomas still looked weak and exhausted, but Doctor Clarkson had been confident that the worst was over for him now.

The only thing that had dampened Jimmy’s happiness was the presence of the officer he’d glimpsed. In fact, to be perfectly honest, the officer had more than dampened Jimmy’s relief. He’d made him _very_ uneasy.

If sleep was difficult before now, it had been absolutely impossible last night. Jimmy didn’t really believe in ghosts or hauntings or anything, but how could a living man just disappear when someone turned on a light? And then he had seen the officer again mere minutes later (though he hadn’t passed Jimmy in the corridors), sitting in Thomas’s bed in a way no one would dare do in public – no one who had anything to lose, anyway.

Jimmy smoothed his hair hastily. He wasn’t just worried about how he looked. Part of him didn’t want to go back to the hospital. It was stupid to admit, even in his own head, but he was afraid of seeing the ghost again.

_Go on_ , Jimmy told himself as he turned away from the mirror. _He could have died for you at that fair. Those louts might have killed him. A ghost – probably – can’t kill you_. But he still shuddered at the thought.

_Anyway, maybe it were nothing. Maybe you dozed off before Mrs. Hughes showed up, is all._

And Jimmy shut the door of his room and tramped down the stairs almost as quickly as he’d come up them.

*

He didn’t see the officer in the waiting room this time. So that was a good start.

Clarkson kept him waiting, of course. Jimmy didn’t know _why_ ; the doctor worked at the hospital all the bloody time and had many more opportunities to check on Thomas than Jimmy did. He sat for a bit, then paced around, absently juggling the bag of biscuits Daisy and Mrs. Patmore had sent down with him.

He realized he was juggling the bag and forced himself to stop. He’d already made a fool of himself by forgetting the biscuits, though Daisy had specifically told him that morning that they would be sending something to Mr. Barrow. She’d had to chase after him through the servants hall on his way out, and had been quite cross. It was strange, how a mousy little girl like that could put the fear of God into Jimmy when she got cross. He imagined her growing into the next Mrs. Patmore in about fifty years, and grinned to himself.

There was a cabinet just across from him, with bottles of morphine and other horrid things that they had to keep in hospitals. Jimmy could see his reflection in the glass if he stood at the right angle. He looked almost normal when he smiled.

“You should go into him now,” Clarkson said, striding into view.

“Thank you, Doctor Clarkson,” Jimmy said. Even in broad day he preferred not to be alone in the hospital more than was necessary. “I’m sorry if all my traipsing in has been a bother.”

“Hardly,” Clarkson said. “It’s kind of you to come so often.”

“Well, we all wish Mr. Barrow well.”

That wasn’t exactly true. Jimmy wished him well, and was pretty sure that Mrs. Hughes and Daisy were sincere in their good wishes. Maybe Anna and Mrs. Patmore were, too – Mrs. Patmore didn’t seem to mind Thomas, and Anna was nice to everybody, she almost got tiresome. But Alfred and Bates and Carson were absolutely indifferent. It was awful, really. Even the hallboys just carried on like it was nothing, like Thomas’s life didn’t matter. Jimmy knew Thomas could be strict with the younger staff, but still, that wasn’t an excuse.

“Well, he’s waiting for you,” Doctor Clarkson said.

Jimmy nodded at him and went in. It dawned on him as he was leaving the old doctor that Clarkson had looked a little out of sorts. The hairs at the back of Jimmy’s neck prickled; he wondered if the hospital really _was_ haunted and if Clarkson had also seen the ghost of that young man.

_Stop it_ , Jimmy thought. _No more telling yourself ghost stories. It’s silly._

The smile he saw on Thomas’s face put all thoughts of ghosts and death and fear out of his mind.

“Good morning, Mr. Barrow,” Jimmy said, dropping into the chair beside Thomas’s bed.

“It’s afternoon, I think,” Thomas said dryly. “Although you’d be – you’d be a better judge of that than I am right now.”

“Right, of course it’s afternoon.” Jimmy tried to laugh. “You know things get quiet around three o’clock. That’s why I come down around this time.”

“I know. And it’s good to have you.”

He sounded so sincere when he said it, so happy. The thought made Jimmy go warm inside. A year ago he would have been sick with himself for being pleased over a thing like that, but the Thirsk fair incident had shown him a different side to Mr. Barrow. So he didn’t mind knowing that he could make the older man happy just by being there.

“I’m glad you seem better,” Jimmy said.

Thomas’s grin grew even broader at that.

“Much better,” he said.

“So when do you think you can come back to Downton?” Jimmy ventured.

A strange expression passed across Thomas’s worn face – like he both wanted, and didn’t want, to go.

“I dunno,” Thomas replied. His tone was strange, too, though Jimmy couldn’t put his finger on why.

“Well, obviously don’t come back ‘til you’re able,” Jimmy put in quickly. “But it must be more pleasant at Downton than here. I know the others are –” he rolled his eyes, which won him another crooked grin from Thomas – “but still it must get lonely here.”

Thomas gave a strange little strangled laugh. Jimmy raised his eyebrows. He thought of the ghost again.

“Sorry,” Thomas said. “I can’t think why I reacted like that. Only I’m not quite well yet, see, and…”

He shrugged. Jimmy had the distinct impression that there was something Thomas wasn’t telling him.

“Well, of course I want you to be completely well,” Jimmy said. “But we miss you up at the house.”

Thomas nodded. Then a terrible, deep cough broke from him, forcing him up off the pillow. It sounded raspy and rattling in his chest. Jimmy looked on helplessly before seeing the pitcher of water on the bedside table and pouring some.

“Are you all right?” he asked when Thomas had settled down a bit. Thomas nodded, pulling a damp handkerchief from under the blanket and putting it to his mouth.

“Here,” Jimmy said, offering Thomas the glass of water. “I might as well be useful.”

“You’re even better than that,” Thomas said. He cleared his throat and sounded stronger when he added, “I’m used to all that by now, too. And thanks for the water.”

He took the glass from Jimmy’s hand, careful not to touch Jimmy’s fingers. Jimmy thought how kind and respectful that was after their misunderstanding, and regretted his own reaction to the incident.

“That’s nothing. I just don’t like seeing my best mate like this…”

Thomas stared hard at him for a moment. It would have made Jimmy very uncomfortable a year ago – even a few months ago – but seeing Thomas so sick had given him a better idea of what was important and what wasn’t. What did it matter if Thomas was fond of him? He’d done so much for Jimmy. Jimmy _should_ make the other man happy, when he could.

And Jimmy was fond of Thomas too. He couldn’t deny that – not completely, anyway.

“Daisy sent you some biscuits,” Jimmy said, remembering the package he’d brought with him. It seemed a good time to change the subject.

“I think she said she made them herself, with good wishes from her, Mrs. Patmore and Ivy…”

 “Well, now, that’s kind of them,” Thomas said. He sounded more like himself. _Good_ , Jimmy thought.

“Here,” Jimmy said, taking out the paper bag and offering Thomas a biscuit. Thomas sat up again, slowly, as if he were still terribly weak. Jimmy hesitated for a second before helping him, but then reached forward to steady Thomas. Their eyes met. Jimmy couldn’t help but smile.

Then he leaned away, back in his chair, refusing to let the warmth of Thomas’s skin make him fidget.

“You’ll have some too, of course,” Thomas said, handing the bag of biscuits to Jimmy.

“Thanks.”

“Well,” Thomas joked, breaking off part of a biscuit and chewing, “they do come at a price. I want to know what I’ve missed. You can report to me.”

“Yes indeed, Mr. Barrow,” Jimmy said. “I expect you’re bored out of your mind here, and I’m happy to assist…”

*

They spent over an hour together talking. Jimmy nearly jumped when he heard the clock strike four.

“I didn’t realize the time,” he said.

Thomas smirked.

“I can see that. And nice as it is to have you, Mr. Carson won’t be pleased if you don’t get back soon.”

Jimmy glanced at the clock, then the door, then back at Thomas’s face. “I’d rather stay and cheer you up, you know.”

“I know that and I’m grateful – but as under-butler I can’t condone slacking, either.” He swallowed the last bite of the last biscuit before brushing the crumbs from his hand and waving towards the door. “Go on then. Off with you.”

“I’ll see you tonight,” Jimmy said.

“I look forward to it. Now, go home before you get yourself sacked, when I’m not around to put in a good word.”

All in all, Jimmy reflected as he walked away from the ward, it had been a successful visit. He’d rest easier tonight. Thomas was on the mend – and nothing untoward had happened, nothing improper _and_ nothing frightening, either.

Jimmy was just telling himself what a fool he’d been to worry about seeing ghosts at the old hospital – to have _almost_ let that deter him from visiting Thomas – when he heard the soft click of a walking stick behind him. There was a sudden draught in the vestibule, too. He turned around, goose bumps rising on his flesh.

“Don’t be alarmed,” he heard someone say. A gentleman; the voice and the accent were those of a young man of good breeding. But no one was in sight.

_Oh God_ , Jimmy thought, panicking. For a moment he considered tearing through the hospital and running right back to Thomas’s side.

“I’m sorry if I frightened you last night,” the ghost said.

_You’re frightening me now, you bastard,_ Jimmy thought. But his years in service reminded him that that was no way to talk to a gentleman, so he said “I can’t _see_ you – sir. If – If I could it might be easier.”

And then, horrifyingly _and_ fascinatingly, the young officer flickered into view behind Jimmy. It was like the wavering of a flame before it went out, only the whole process was backwards.

“I didn’t realize you couldn’t see me,” the officer said. “It’s difficult for me to control – I think I can only be seen by people to whom I have some connection, and of course I can’t see you at all…”

Jimmy was no longer listening by that point. His blood seemed to boil; he thought _I have no connection to you_ , yet he couldn’t stop remembering the sight of this man – this ghost – cradling Thomas’s head in such a familiar way.

“Who are you?” Jimmy asked. “And you’d better not mean Thomas any harm, or…”

The officer shook his head. He looked like a decent enough chap, if you could get over the pallor and the disappearing. And if you liked slim, fair men, he would have been very handsome apart from the blistering on his face.

“Of course I don’t mean him – or you – any harm. As I said, you’re a good friend to him.”

“You still haven’t told me who you are,” Jimmy repeated, puffing himself out as much as he could. Then he felt foolish, remembering that the ghost had just said he couldn’t see.

“Who you were. However it works… sir.”

The ghost stepped forward. He extended one white hand toward Jimmy, though he was still standing a bit too far away for them to shake. _Right, blind_ , Jimmy thought.

“Lieutenant Edward Courtenay,” the ghost said.

Jimmy didn’t take his hand. He was, however, about to ask more questions when he heard a woman walking briskly towards them. _Damn_ , he thought. He expected that Courtenay would disappear if another person came by, and sure enough he _did._ _Damn damn damn…_

“James,” Isobel Crawley said, entering the vestibule, and looking as if she were astonished to see him.

Jimmy glared down at the floor. _Awful woman; nosey and – and always meddling at the wrong times…_ But she was on the hospital board. More than that, she was starting to keep company with Doctor Clarkson; Jimmy remembered the family remarking on it. So there was really nothing malicious or unusual in her turning up at the hospital.

Jimmy managed to nod at her, though he didn’t trust his voice to work yet. He could feel the woman’s eyes boring down on him.

“James, you look as if you’ve seen a ghost,” Mrs. Crawley said.

Jimmy heard someone let out a rather high, hysterical sort of laugh, and only realized after a moment that it had been him. _Damn it all_ , he thought.

But at least Mrs. Crawley wasn’t staring at him like he was an idiot, like he would have expected. She put a hand on his shoulder and looked him over.

“What’s wrong?” she asked. “Has something happened to Mr. Barrow?”

She sounded sincere enough. Jimmy shook his head, deciding he would be grateful rather than mortified.

“No,” he said.

“Then whatever’s the matter? I hope you’ve not taken ill yourself…”

No doubt she would have loved a chance to nurse him or bustle him up to Doctor Clarkson and make him a joint project with her new boyfriend. But Jimmy managed to control himself.

“I’m all right, thanks,” he said, “only a little tired.”

“Well, I’m not surprised,” she replied. “You’ve been tramping down here a lot, from what I hear. And no doubt you’ve been worried.” She smiled brightly. Jimmy had a feeling that some kindly and totally unnecessary, unwanted offer was coming.

“Smythe drove me over,” she began. “If you don’t mind waiting for me to speak to Doctor Clarkson, perhaps you can come back with us? It would be easier for you than walking.”

Jimmy shook his head again. “That’s very kind, but I think I prefer to walk.”

The thought of staying in this hospital, and finishing his talk with the ghost of Edward Courtenay, was not an appealing one. Now that he thought of it, Jimmy wondered how he’d held it together before when he was talking to the ghost. He was curious about him, but standing alone in a hallway and talking to a dead man really wasn’t his cup of tea. If Courtenay wouldn’t – or couldn’t – appear when Jimmy was around other people, well, that was his problem. Jimmy thought he might just prefer to make up his own theories about the ghost, alone, and avoid him in future.

_Or I could ask Thomas_ , he thought. _That might make the most sense. Maybe they were lovers during the war and the ghost wanted to check up on him…_ He wondered if ghosts could do that. Jimmy imagined a whole tragic story in which Thomas had had the pneumonia the winter before the fair, and died of it (heaven forbid), but had come back as a ghost to scare away Jimmy’s attackers under that bridge in Thirsk…

“Are you quite sure?” Mrs. Crawley asked.

Jimmy blinked. He had no idea how long it had been since he last spoke.

“Of course,” he said. “Thanks very much, but I’d best be off.”

And he all but ran from the hospital.

*

“I thought I might be too late,” Edward said, appearing in the chair beside Thomas’s bed.

“Too late for what?” Thomas asked. He realized as he spoke that the bitterness had crept back into Edward’s voice; he braced himself for whatever might be coming.

“For you,” Edward replied. “I couldn’t help passing by as he was leaving – your friend, I mean. My curiosity got the better of me, and I’m not surprised if I’m too late. I’ve been dead since 1917. Of course you would move on.”

_Damn_ , Thomas thought. He shook his aching head.

“It’s not like that – ”

Edward gritted his teeth.

“Don’t lie to me,” he said. “I would hardly expect you to want a ghost for a lover.”

“I – I really don’t mind,” Thomas said. “There’s nothing going on between me and Jimmy and there never will be. I had feelings for him, and maybe I still do – you know you can’t turn that on and off like an electric light. But he’s not like us. He was disgusted by the whole idea – threatened to go to the police and everything. It took us over a year just to be friends, and we’ll never be more than that.”

His words did nothing to ease the anxious, brooding look on Edward’s face. Thomas gritted his teeth. He was awfully tired to deal with this right now.

“I wouldn’t be so sure of that,” Edward said. “He’s young. He might still be afraid of himself, as I was. How old is he?”

“Twenty-three,” Thomas replied automatically. Then he realized that the quick way the words sprang to his mind probably wouldn’t help his case. He might seem to be jumping at any chance to talk about Jimmy. _Fuck. Shouldn’t have said it like that…_

“So he’s a little younger than I was when I died,” Edward said. “I was twenty four.”

“I _know_ that,” Thomas snapped. _You damn near broke my heart doing it_ , he thought, but controlled himself and said nothing further on the subject. It was still _strange_ , having these sorts of conversations.

“Anyway, I _am_ sure that nothing’ll happen with Jimmy,” he continued, “and I’m the one who knows him. And I know how glad I am to have you back with me.”

He thought of himself five years before, sitting in this same hospital ward weeping over Edward’s death while his blood was still dripping onto the floor. Thomas had seldom grieved like that for anyone. At least, he hadn’t since boyhood, when he lost his parents. Maybe it was just the war and feeling that every day could be your last that had made him fall so hard, so quickly – but he thought he’d be happy to have Edward as a lover even now, even as a ghost.

“I want to be with _you_ ,” Thomas added.

That brought a faint, sad smile to Edward’s face.

“Sometimes I think I made a terrible mistake in killing myself,” he said. “Of course death is wonderfully – liberating, in some respects. But I look back and think I must have been such a coward – ”

“Never,” Thomas said. He thought of his blighty, and how he could never, ever tell Edward about it, no matter what else they shared – and thought of Edward’s courage in fumbling through the gas to try to save a friend, or so the story went… “You should never say that.”

“Well, I was so afraid to carry on,” Edward continued, ignoring Thomas’s protests, “I mean, being blind, and afraid to love you, or speak up. Now I’m not afraid, because I have nothing to lose, but nothing to offer, either.” He sighed. “I’m sure Jimmy has a perfect face and skin that’s warm to the touch – and a beating heart. And of course you wouldn’t have to die to be with him.”

Thomas opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again. After a long moment he found his voice.

“I don’t understand. You’re here with me now; what do you mean?”

Edward looked down, as if he felt guilty about something.

“I think I only came back because you were at death’s door,” he said. “But I don’t think I can stay. I’m already feeling so _tired_ from being here.”

He said it calmly, matter-of-factly, but Thomas fought to sit up and clutched at Edward’s sleeve.

“Why?”

Edward seemed to shrink into himself, away from Thomas. “I didn’t know what would happen, exactly. But I don’t think I can remain with the living for long.”

“But I can’t lose you again,” Thomas cried. He could feel a trickle of sweat starting on his brow. The thought of another loss was too cruel, coming as it would on years of loneliness and disappointment.

“I’m sorry,” Edward said.

“Can’t you just _stay_ a ghost?” Thomas was practically begging.

Edward’s brow furrowed.

“Take my hand,” he said.

Thomas did as he was told. Edward’s fingers were like ice, even worse than before. Thomas couldn’t help but shudder. Edward drew his hand away.

“Sorry,” Thomas said.

Edward tried to smile at him. He could only manage a brave little grimace.

“I am, too,” he said. “But I think it’s starting, and I certainly don’t want you to die. I’m afraid I don’t know what we can do.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter features a more extensive, and some might say romanticized, discussion of suicide and the afterlife, so warnings for potentially triggering content.

A long silence fell. Thomas realized that his head was pounding, and sank back against the pillow. His throat was dry, too, but the effort involved in pouring water didn’t seem worth it.

“I need a smoke,” he said.

Edward raised one eyebrow.

“You know, someday they’ll discover that that’s all poison,” he remarked. “You should listen to Major Clarkson on that point. You’ve been sick enough.”

Thomas gave an exaggerated sigh.

“How do you know the future?” he asked.

“Call it a sixth sense,” Edward replied.

Thomas turned his head weakly to one side to scan the bedside table. He knew he’d seen his cigarettes beside the water pitcher; mercifully, they were still there. He reached for the box, wincing as the awkward position strained his sore muscles.

“You know, I can hear you even if I can’t see you,” Edward said.

Thomas couldn’t help but smile. He wasn’t used to people caring about his wellbeing, even if this were just some crazy theory.

“Well, it’s… kind of you to care,” Thomas said. He wanted to make a joke of it, Edward worrying so much about his health despite being dead these five years, but it didn’t seem all that funny anymore. Not after what Edward had said about being unable to stay with him.

“What was it like, dying?” Thomas asked instead. “That is, if you don’t mind talking about it.”

He wrapped his fingers around Edward’s, steeling himself for the chill. He thought he might be imagining it – hoped so – yet the other man’s touch seemed weaker, as if his body were growing less corporeal by the hour. Thomas imagined him fading away until nothing remained but the wry, sad smile on his soft lips, like some tragic Cheshire cat.

“I don’t mind,” Edward replied.

“Did it hurt?”

Edward knit his brows together.

“I hope you’re not considering it,” he said. “And no, it didn’t hurt. Slitting my wrists hurt; it took everything I had not to call for help. I don’t recommend it at all. But dying was like –” he paused, searching for the right words. “It was like finally falling asleep despite some terrible pain.”

It didn’t sound nearly as bad as Thomas would have thought. He wondered if maybe, just maybe, relaxing in some sort of afterlife with a man who loved him and wasn’t afraid to say it would have its advantages. He had never believed in much of anything before, but meeting Edward’s ghost was something of a game changer, wasn’t it?

For a moment Thomas thought of his parents. They had loved him, too. He liked to think they’d have loved him despite what he was, though of course he’d been so young when they died that they never knew. They probably would have hated him. Then again, maybe death made people forget their prejudices over things like that. Thomas was absolutely indifferent to his living relatives, who had neither liked nor wanted him, but he wondered if his parents were still out there somewhere, in a place where they might meet again someday.

_All right,_ he thought to himself. _That’s enough sop for one night._

“You’re so quiet,” Edward said, cutting in on his thoughts. “I hope you’re not tempted.”

Thomas hesitated. “Well, it might not be so bad if I know there’s something there and if we could be together…”

“It’s not pleasant,” Edward said with sudden force. “Really. I want more for you, you know. You deserve to live.  Don’t even think it.”

_Always so bloody self-sacrificing_ , Thomas thought.

“I can think what I please,” he countered. “And you –you could start by telling me what it’s like, the other side.”

Edward sighed. Thomas wondered how he could do so, since he didn’t seem to breathe. He supposed it might be just a figure of speech, at that point.

“You don’t want to be there,” Edward said, furrowing his brow. “It’s grey and dull and cold– and it becomes very hard to remember who you were or anything else.”

“But you remember things just fine,” Thomas said.

“That’s different –”

“Where did you study?” Thomas asked. “Cambridge, or Oxford?”

“Oxford,” Edward replied. “And you know, this isn’t the sort of thing that you can explain in an examination.”

“I don’t care,” Thomas said, stubbornly. “I want to see if you really did forget things. What were you reading at Oxford? Where were you born – the name of the estate? What rank did you hold during the war?”

Edward answered all of them.

“Though as for your last question,” he remarked, “you know you referred to me as Lieutenant while you were ill. So you gave that away.”

“Well, _I_ forgot about it,” Thomas said. “It happens. You don’t make the afterlife sound so bad.”

“It’s not _so_ bad – but I want better for you,” Edward insisted. “You only just recovered from pneumonia. I don’t want to see you die now. You should live to be a scrappy old man somewhere, with a human partner.”

“You’re human,” Thomas said.

“You know what I mean.”

Thomas worried at one fingernail. He did know what Edward meant; he just didn’t know how likely that was. It wasn’t impossible, but it didn’t seem terribly likely either, with his luck. He’d been so sure of Jimmy, and that had gone so spectacularly wrong…

“Then what are we supposed to do?” he asked.

 Edward raised Thomas’s hand to his lips and kissed it.

“Enjoy the time we have together,” he replied. “It’s all we can do.”

Thomas wasn’t satisfied with that.

“But you say there _would_ be a way for me to go with you –”

Edward glared at him through his ruined eyes. “Don’t even _think_ it, or I swear I won’t speak to you.”

Thomas sighed. “Fine. We drop the subject for now, all right?”

Edward shook his head. “‘For now’ really isn’t good enough.”

But they could not continue their argument just then. Clarkson was doing his evening rounds and fussed over Thomas, reminded him that he was to keep taking his pills, lest the fever return, and to cut his intake of cigarettes. Thomas smirked a little at that and at the way Clarkson tried all the while _not_ to look in Edward’s direction.

“You should be able to return to Downton soon,” he said. “I know Lord and Lady Grantham will be happy to assist you in any way. And you will probably feel better at home.”

Thomas looked over at Edward, then back at Clarkson again. He rather relished the look of unease in the old doctor’s eyes.

“I don’t want to go,” he said. “Not just yet.”

He saw Edward flinch at that, and grimaced, wished he hadn’t said anything. It was too like what Edward had said on the last day he was alive; they all knew it. But Clarkson’s discomfort wasn’t worth causing Edward pain.

“Well, it doesn’t have to be tomorrow,” Clarkson said gently. He smiled at Thomas, or tried to. “But your friends are so worried for you. I should have thought you’d want to go home. You know Mr. Kent came down again this evening?”

Thomas looked over at Edward, who hesitated for a second before nodding his head.

“I’m very pleased,” Thomas said, aware that Edward could hear the happiness he’d been unable to temper. “Can I speak to him? Just for a few minutes.”

Clarkson nodded, looking rather like an indulgent parent. Thomas supposed he was scared out of his wits by the sight of Edward Courtenay.

“I hardly think he’d go back to the Abbey _without_ seeing you,” he said. “I’ll send him in now.”

“I’ll leave,” Edward said, as soon as Clarkson was gone. Thomas gripped his hand.

“I love you, you know,” he said. “You don’t have to.”

But Edward shook his head. “The sight of me upset him, and I don’t want anyone you care for to be unhappy.” He leaned over to place a quick kiss on Thomas’s cheek. “I’ll be back soon.”

He didn’t disappear this time, but took up his walking stick and made his way out of the west side door as Jimmy entered from the east.

*

It had snowed a little as Jimmy walked down from the Abbey. He’d been shivering all the while, and was still trailing melting snow through the hospital when he went into Thomas’s ward. Jimmy thought as he looked around him that he hated hospitals. The dark panelled walls and cabinets of strange poisons seemed eerie on a night like this. Jimmy was glad to drop down in the chair by Thomas’s side – even gladder than he normally would be, because he was still frightened, though he hated that fact, too.

“You look cold,” Thomas said right away.

Jimmy shrugged. “Well, it’s draughty here.”

He thought of Edward Courtenay, of the draught that seemed to accompany the man’s appearances, and wondered if he were sitting in the very seat the ghost had just vacated. He shuddered in spite of himself.

“It looks a bad night, too,” Thomas said. “You didn’t have to come down. I don’t need you catching pneumonia as well.”

That brought a smile to Jimmy’s face. He’d expected something like that, and found he rather enjoyed seeing Thomas act concerned for him. So few people did, since his parents died.

“I’m quite well,” he said. “Although I can just imagine Carson’s face if he were down two of his staff at once.”

Thomas laughed a little. “You should have seen him during the war, then. Like a ringmaster without a pony.”

Jimmy swallowed hard at the mention of the war. It reminded him of the ghost officer once again.

“I need to ask you something,” he said, clearing his throat and studying Thomas’s face. Thomas was sitting up, but leaned heavily against the headboard. His eyes were bleary – worse than they’d been that afternoon – and red spots burned in his pale cheeks. _Bad time_ , Jimmy thought. He could have kicked himself.

“What is it?” Thomas asked. He coughed a little, not as bad as before, but enough to make Jimmy wince in sympathy.

“Actually – never mind,” Jimmy said. “You look tired.”

Thomas shrugged. “I suppose a touch of the fever’s back. It happens at night; it’s nothing to worry about.”

Jimmy bit at his lower lip. Thomas didn’t sound nearly as upset about it as he should be.

“I’ll run and fetch Doctor Clarkson,” he offered.

Thomas shook his head. “It’s nothing. I took the pills I had to. They’ll be working soon. What was it you wanted to ask me?”

And Jimmy felt himself flushing. It was weird to think of Thomas with another lover, when the man had always seemed so lonely and so drawn to Jimmy himself. Jimmy wouldn’t say he was _jealous_ , exactly, but it was weird to think about. That was all. He was used to it being him and Thomas against the world.

“It doesn’t have to be now,” he said. “If your fever’s back.”

“It’s all right,” Thomas said. “You walked all the way in this weather. I don’t want it to be for nothing.”

“Seeing you’s not nothing,” Jimmy replied, looking down.

“Well, thanks,” Thomas said, sounding pleased. Then he grew serious again. “But if something’s troubling you, I want to help.”

Jimmy hesitated. What if the ghost’s name meant nothing to Thomas? That didn’t seem likely, from the way Courtenay had spoken, but Jimmy wasn’t in the habit of taking supernatural apparitions at their word. _(Not that I’ve met many supernatural apparitions…)_ Or what if he’d dreamed up the encounter and would sound like a lunatic?

“Go on,” Thomas continued. “I’m not so unwell that I can’t listen.”

This was said in one of those sincere, soppy tones that Thomas only used with Jimmy – or that Jimmy only heard him use with him. It made Jimmy’s stomach twist strangely. He supposed there was no getting out of asking Thomas now.

“Does the name Edward Courtenay mean anything to you?” he asked, all in a rush. He looked back at Thomas. Thomas’s cheeks reddened a little. The name meant something, all right. Jimmy frowned. He’d almost hoped the name would be unfamiliar to Thomas; in some ways, it would have been easier to conjure the whole story in a nightmare than to know there was a real ghost wandering around. _And a ghost of one of his former lovers or something – possibly._ The thought was _strange_ and deeply troubling, for reasons Jimmy couldn’t quite explain.

“Why are you asking?” Thomas countered, after a moment.

“I asked my question first,” Jimmy said. He realized after he spoke that he sounded like a petulant boy. _Ridiculous_ , he told himself. _But then, avoiding answering is a bad sign._ _He should just tell me…_

Thomas snorted.

“Fair enough,” he said. “Can you reach me my cigarettes? Thanks.”

Jimmy did more than that. He took out one cigarette, lit it himself and put it to Thomas’s lips. Thomas’s face creased into a look of concern as Jimmy’s wrist brushed across his cheek. Jimmy smirked.

“Well?” he asked, once Thomas had had a couple puffs.

Thomas exhaled slowly, reluctantly.

“Lieutenant Courtenay was a man I knew during the war,” he said. “He died in this hospital, in fact, when I was working here.”

So there really was a dead officer by the name of Edward Courtenay in Thomas’s life. What’s more, he had died right here in the hospital. It didn’t seem completely mad for him to be there as a ghost, did it? Just mad enough that Jimmy would _not_ ask outright if he could help it.

He tried another track.

“Were you and him – involved?” Jimmy asked. He was sure he was blushing just talking about it.

Thomas must have sensed his discomfort, and tried to be delicate about the subject.

“I would have liked that,” he admitted, “but he died before.”

Jimmy pursed his lips and folded his arms across his chest as he tried to read Thomas’s expression. He was sure there was more that Thomas wasn’t telling him. _You’ve seen him now_ , Jimmy thought as hard as he could, as if by thinking it loudly enough he could get the other man to admit everything without having to ask.

“So nothing happened between you two?”

Jimmy hoped he was right. Thomas having an intense friendship with a man was one thing. The thought of Thomas actually taking another man to bed ( _and not a bad looking one, if Courtenay’s ghost was anything to go by_ ) was more difficult. In fact, it brought that uncomfortable, flip-flopping feeling right back to Jimmy’s stomach.

“Nothing illegal,” Thomas said. He kept his voice very low. “And nothing you would call wrong –”

“I didn’t say it were _wrong_ ,” Jimmy broke in.

Thomas raised his eyebrows. “Well, _thanks_ , I suppose.”

His voice dripped with sarcasm. Jimmy wondered if he should apologize properly for the things he’d said and done after that one misunderstanding, that one time Thomas tried to kiss him.

“Well,” Jimmy said. “Well…”

His eyes met Thomas’s; Thomas looked expectant. Jimmy couldn’t face him just then. He glanced away and remembered that he was trying to learn about the ghost of Edward Courtenay, not make a fool of himself.

“Were you in love with him?” he asked.

Thomas sighed. “You might not think it could be love –”

Jimmy knew better than that. Thomas had shown him that much.

“Give me some credit,” he said.

Thomas sighed, shaking his head.

“Fine,” he said, then went on, ignoring the strange turn their conversation had taken, or had been about to take. “I loved him very much.”

Jimmy scowled at the floor. He was trying to be understanding – he really was – but Thomas admitting to having _loved_ another man bothered him. _You love_ me, he thought. _Whether I like it or not, and whether I need it or not._ He knew the war was years before he and Thomas had even met, but still, he didn’t want a ghost or a memory or whatever taking his best mate away from him.

“Why are you asking?” Thomas repeated.

Jimmy bit his lip. The real reason still sounded too mad to admit.

“Don’t tell me you don’t know why,” Jimmy muttered. His eyes met Thomas’s again. They stared at one another for a long moment. Deep lines stood out on the smooth skin of Thomas’s forehead, as they did when he was troubled or deep in thought. Jimmy supposed he _had_ seen his old love’s ghost, but was afraid that saying so would make him sound like a lunatic. Jimmy smirked, then stopped smiling as soon as he’d started.

Thomas caved first. He took another puff of his cigarette, looked away from Jimmy, then back at him with a rather nervous smile.

“Jimmy,” he began, “if you’ve seen anything unusual…”

“Like what?” Jimmy asked, playing dumb.

Thomas flushed.

“Don’t be daft,” he snapped, sounding as annoyed at Jimmy as he’d ever been. “I know there’s no way for you to have learned his name. I have nothing that belonged to him, or – or mentions him, unless…”

“Unless I’m being haunted by the ghost of your dead lover,” Jimmy snapped back.

Thomas actually laughed at that – shrilly, almost giggling. Jimmy clenched his teeth, utterly indignant. Really, it wasn’t funny. He had a right to be angry.

“Sorry,” Thomas said, when he had calmed down. “Only – I know how hard it is to believe.” He seemed about to reach for Jimmy, but thought better of it. “You don’t have to be afraid, though.”

“I’m _not_ afraid,” Jimmy protested. “Only it’s not normal, meeting ghosts from – from your mate’s past –”

“Jimmy,” Thomas said sharply, “Edward Courtenay was one of the most decent people I ever knew. You weren’t there, but his death –” he paused. Jimmy thought he sounded choked up.

Thomas cleared his throat.

“I consider myself lucky to have seen him again,” he finished, quietly. “At all. Whatever it took or however it happened.”

It was a tone that would brook no argument. _He won’t hear a word against the man_ , Jimmy thought.

“It’s still not _normal_ ,” he said. “It makes me uneasy, is all.”

“You don’t have to be,” Thomas replied, sounding gentle and soppy in a way that Jimmy resented. Jimmy was about to say something cross, but stopped himself: that would probably only make Thomas angry and make him sound like a child throwing a fit, or like a sore loser.

“Well,” he said, foolishly.

Thomas raised his eyebrows at him. “Are you –”

Jimmy could finish the thought for him. _Jealous._ But he wasn’t – well, not in a romantic way; he just didn’t want Thomas forgetting all about him for a dead man.

“I’m _nothing_ ,” Jimmy replied.

Thomas sighed. His words, however, were kind when he spoke again.

“You shouldn’t be frightened or upset or anything,” he said. “Really. We’re still best mates, right?”

It was better than nothing. In fact, it was what Jimmy had wanted, though it was remarkably unsatisfying and anticlimactic to hear.

“Of course,” Jimmy said, glumly.

The wind howled outside the narrow windows of the hospital ward. Jimmy glanced over his shoulder to see fat snowflakes whirling in the air. It was a perfect night for a haunting – or for your best mate to all but tell you that he prefers his dead lover to you.

“I should probably be getting back,” Jimmy murmured. “I shouldn’t tire you out.”

Thomas shrugged. “I’m fine, Jimmy – but you shouldn’t be out late when it’s so bad. I’d worry about _your_ health.”

“You don’t just want to get rid of me?” Jimmy spat. His own forcefulness took him aback.

A look of pain crossed Thomas’s face.

“Never. You should know that.”

Jimmy softened, and suppressed a little sigh.

“All right,” he said. “It’s just – _weird_ , is all. Good night.”

“Will I see you tomorrow?” Thomas asked, voice rising.

Jimmy nodded. “Yeah.” _But tell your dead boyfriend to leave me alone._

*


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Strong trigger warnings for discussions of suicide, suicidal thoughts, and referenced period-appropriate homophobia/internalized homophobia. Also attempted sex with a ghost. Finally, because I'm the sort of person who even nitpicks and goes all know-it-all on my own works, I am flagging a slight inconsistency that comes up in this chapter. In episode 2.02, Edward is in his pajamas when he dies; I have him appearing in his uniform as a ghost, even though Thomas (and I think Jimmy in an earlier chapter) refer to the uniform as the clothes he died in.

Thomas sat in bed smoking his cigarettes end to end for a long time after Jimmy left, even when Edward reappeared, lay down beside him on the too-small cot, and entwined their hands. Thomas was growing accustomed to the deathly chill of his skin.

“I hope he wasn’t upset,” Edward said, idly caressing Thomas’s wrist. Thomas shuddered, not from the cold, but from that first subtle stirring of arousal. That felt _so_ good.

“I know the sight of me makes some people uneasy,” Edward went on.

Thomas shrugged. “It’s all right.”

The feel of Edward’s slim fingers brushing against his skin was making his stomach drop and his heart race. Edward went on talking, but Thomas hardly heard him.

“I know _he’s_ seen me at least a few times, or heard us talking, and didn’t sound happy about it…”

“Wait,” Thomas said, after a beat. Damn it; he’d been concentrating on Edward’s touch, not on listening.  “Who?”

He bit back a grimace of impatience. Really, Edward had started it. The way he was caressing Thomas was far more interesting than talk.

“Major Clarkson,” Edward replied. Thomas could see the smile pulling at his mouth. “I know he’s – aware of me, sometimes. It’s hard for me to control, and I can’t see him, but I heard how frightened he sounded when he was speaking with you earlier.”

Thomas didn’t have much sympathy for Clarkson – at least, not where Edward was concerned.

“Well, I wouldn’t worry too much,” he said. His tone was harsher than he meant. “After the way he treated you I wouldn’t mind him feeling uneasy for a bit.”

_But you’re a real gentleman_ , he thought. _A real darling. You might feel bad all the same_.

“He did what he thought was best,” Edward said, “but I don’t really mind. Only it’s awkward. And –” a gleam came into his ruined eyes – “I hope he doesn’t pass by now, when I’m lying in your bed.”

Thomas laughed.

“Well, I don’t think we’d get in any trouble,” he said. “Old Clarkson would just think he’d gone mad. Or everyone else would, if he tried to say anything.”

He leaned in closer and kissed Edward’s mouth again and again, only stopping when he had succeeded in coaxing a broad grin onto the other man’s face.

“I suppose you’re right,” Edward said. He bit at his lower lip, trying unsuccessfully to stifle a giggle.

Thomas breathed in hard. He had far more energy than he had had before, when Jimmy was there, and the ward was so quiet… He moved his hand upwards, wondering if he could undo the buttons of Edward’s khaki shirt, or if he were trapped in the clothes he’d died in.

The button gave way. Edward shifted, as if he were about to draw back, but thought better of it and parted his lips beneath Thomas’s probing tongue. Thomas gasped. Even Edward’s mouth was cool and damp, where a living man’s would have been warm and wet. It was unlike anything Thomas had ever felt – and Edward could just go on kissing, because he didn’t have to breathe…

It was incredible. But Thomas did have to breathe, and broke away, panting, after a long, long time.

“You’re so beautiful,” he said between breaths.

“I prefer ‘handsome’,” Edward teased him. He reached for Thomas’s face, stroked his cheek, then placed a chaste kiss on his lips.

“Whenever you’re ready to continue,” Edward said.

Thomas grinned and wrapped his arms around Edward’s slim body. Then he flipped the other man onto his back and stretched out on top of him, kissing every part of his face and neck that he could reach. Edward let out a small moan. Thomas could just feel his blood rushing to his groin. It had been so long since he’d been with anyone; he wondered what it would be like to crack that gentlemanly composure Edward had carried over from life, to make him writhe and plead…

Thomas was almost fully hard now. He closed his eyes, nuzzled his head against the soft curls of Edward’s hair. Edward touched his lips to Thomas’s cheek, searching for his mouth. That cold kiss sent a shudder down Thomas’s spine. He moved his hand between Edward’s legs…

Then Edward did pull back. Thomas didn’t realize at first, couldn’t bring himself to let go – until Edward said, “I don’t think it’ll _work_. Hold on.”

Thomas opened his eyes. Reluctantly, he let go of Edward.

“What’s wrong?”

Edward had drawn so far away from Thomas that Thomas feared he would fall off the cot.

“I can’t – _do_ anything,” Edward said. A faint pink tinge had come into his white face. Had he been alive, Thomas knew he would have been scarlet with embarrassment.

_But he’s a ghost_ , he thought. _And the_ way _he died – he can’t have enough blood in him_. He thought he was beginning to understand.

“Don’t you see?” Edward went on. “I wouldn’t be able to _–_ perform.”

God, he sounded horrified just talking about it. Thomas would have laughed at anyone else. But this was Edward. He took his hand and kissed it.

“All right,” Thomas said, “I understand and it’s all right. Whatever we can try is fine.” He tried to lighten the mood, which had suddenly turned so sombre. “But I don’t think we should give up just yet. I’ve never done anything with a man who was dead before; it’d be a new experience…”

Edward held up his free hand to stop Thomas.

“Don’t try to sound depraved,” he said, tiredly. “It isn’t funny. It just shows how little I can give you.”

Thomas opened his mouth, but no words came out. He hadn’t wanted the painful reminder and thought, _I don’t see why you give up so easily._ But he didn’t say it. He stood there silently, ignoring the lump in his throat and the sinking in his stomach that were quickly killing his desire.

“I’m sorry,” Edward said. “You know I can’t be with you.”

This was Thomas’s chance to try again, to say that whatever they could do to enjoy their time together was perfect.

“Look, no matter what I want to be with you _–_ ”

Edward shook his head.

“Don’t you see it’s impossible? I’m not supposed to be with the living at all. We can’t make a life together, because I’m not _alive_.”

_Then let me go with you_ , Thomas thought sourly. He had the good sense to keep his mouth shut, however, at least for now.

“All right,” he repeated, with an effort. “But just stay close to me before you have to go, will you? I won’t push for anything else, if you can’t do it, but I don’t want to waste any of the time we have…”

Edward nodded, then reached for Thomas’s hand and slowly settled in to lean his head against Thomas’s shoulder.

“Very well.”

*

It was all Jimmy could do to stand at attention, without fidgeting or dropping things. His quarrel with Thomas weighed heavily on his mind, for all it had been a small quarrel. Once again, sleep had eluded him when he got home. He should have been fine, now that he knew Thomas was feeling better – now that Thomas had assured him his ghost friend or lover or whatever was a decent chap and safe to be around – but somehow, Jimmy couldn’t calm down. He kept feeling that he was losing Thomas, like he might never see him again.

The thought bothered him more than it should bother a man.

Jimmy kept his shoulders straight and balanced the tray of drinks handily, but in his mind he was pouring over his worries about Thomas and Edward Courtenay and himself. At one point during dinner he actually flushed up so badly it made Carson fix on him like a hawk.

_Damn it_ , Jimmy thought as Carson bustled over to him in the servants’ hall between courses.

“Are you well, James?” he demanded.

Jimmy nodded. “Perfectly, sir.”

“Then for goodness’s sake, try to look it and not draw attention to yourself. I can’t think what’s gotten into you.”

“I’ll do my best,” Jimmy assured him, then scowled at Carson’s back when he turned away.

But a moment later he realized he was missing half of what Daisy said to him about the fish and the sauce he was to take up. He’d already fallen back into the rabbit hole of his own thoughts by then. Jimmy wondered – morbidly – if he might walk in during one of his visits to the hospital and catch Thomas in his bed with his lover. The idea was too awful.

_But you_ are _jealous_ , some irritating part of his brain whispered. _And not like a mate, either. You’re as jealous as you’d expect him to be with you, and for the same reason…_

His face went hot again. _Oh God_ , he thought. _Never._ It was – it was shameful, indecent, even to think these things in his own head.

Daisy stopped in her tracks on her way back to the kitchen. Jimmy seemed to see her out of the corner of his eye. He blinked and realized she was staring at him.

“Are you all right?” she asked, furrowing her brow.

“I’m _fine_ ,” Jimmy snapped.

Daisy folded her arms across her chest.

“I’m only asking because you don’t look it,” she fired back. “Your face went all pale and then all red again, like you’ve got a fever or something. You shouldn’t be working if you’re ill – but of course you can suit yourself.”

“I’m not ill,” Jimmy insisted. He might not be _normal_ – not as much as he liked to think, _longed_ to think, in fact, because a normal man wouldn’t even consider a mate like that, would he, and what would everyone he knew _say_? – but he could hold a bloody tray for a few more minutes.

“All right then, _go_ ,” Daisy said, and shooed him on his way.

Carson scolded him for running upstairs in that undignified way. But he would have been late otherwise, and Carson wouldn’t have liked that either. Besides, Jimmy had more important things to think about tonight. He thought his head might just tear itself apart, it ached so. How could he be _jealous_ of Thomas’s other lover? Jimmy wasn’t like that – was he?

He wondered if he had been living a lie all this time, building a façade ever since he met Thomas, and now cracks were starting to form in it, as if seeing Thomas and Edward Courtenay together had _made_ the cracks appear. There’d been _little_ ones before, though. He’d been so worried and so touched after the Thirsk fair, for one thing – and even when Thomas had tried to kiss him that time, after weeks of being overly familiar, Jimmy was more afraid than anything. Afraid to admit he sort of wanted it, had been curious about Thomas and drawn to him, too – and afraid of O’Brien or anyone else knowing, even though the thought of Thomas had been in the back of his brain for some time when he touched himself…

His cheeks burned with shame. He was still afraid of anyone knowing. He forced himself to stand rigid and smile becomingly until he thought his jaw would lock.

Somehow Jimmy managed not to drop the fish course down anyone’s lap, though he wanted to go curl up in a ball somewhere and hide his face in his hands. Still, he was first footman. He wasn’t about to make Alfred look better by running out of the dining room in a panic.

He couldn’t help attracting notice, however. Mrs. Crawley had come up for dinner, and Jimmy just knew she was looking at him suspiciously. He did his best to act natural while he served. She frowned at him in concern anyway. Jimmy’s jaw went slack then; he realized he was gaping like a fool, and turned away.

_I just need to see Thomas and – and –_ He hardly knew _what_ he wanted. Tell Thomas that he’d been right all this time? That Jimmy was like him, at least a little bit, and that they should see more of each other? Maybe Thomas would tell him something hopeful and comforting, that it was possible to live like this without anyone knowing or sending you to prison…

That was, if Thomas still wanted him. Jimmy didn’t see how he could prefer a handsome ghost to a living friend, but he _had_ spoken so highly of Edward Courtenay. And Jimmy had been horrid to him after that kiss, too.

The dinner dragged on and on. Jimmy wondered if it would ever end. Mercifully, it did, and Jimmy cleared the plates and tramped back down to the kitchen, still turning his hideous discovery over in his brain.

“Will you get your head out of the clouds and take the plates back?” Mrs. Patmore demanded, shooing Jimmy out of her way. He blinked; he’d been so busy _worrying_ he must have forgotten to move.

“I’m on my way,” he murmured.

Patmore shook her head – not completelyunsympathetic, he thought. “I don’t know what’s happened to you. Daisy thought you must be ill and if you _are_ , I don’t need you keeling over in my kitchen. And if you’re not _ill_ you can stop wandering about like that.”

“Sorry…”

He needed a break. That was all. (Well, of course it wasn’t all – not if he had to confront something horrid like that about himself, something that would make him a pariah and a lonely one at that if Thomas wouldn’t have him. But maybe he’d be better off thinking on it alone somewhere, where he wouldn’t get his head bitten off just for standing still.)

“I’ve taken a – a bad turn,” he told Mr. Carson, passing the butler’s pantry. He hoped his voice wouldn’t shake. It didn’t – not yet.

The older man turned to look down his nose at Jimmy. Jimmy bit his lip.

 “It’s my head,” Jimmy added. “I feel like it’s splitting. Might I go up for a bit? Mrs. Patmore was afraid I’d fall over right in her kitchen…”

Carson said nothing for a long moment. Jimmy thought he would accuse him of shirking or drinking or something. But to his relief Carson gave a little sigh and nodded.

“Oh, very well,” he said, “Alfred and I can manage the drinks. I’d rather you stay out of sight than make a fool of yourself.”

“Thanks,” Jimmy said, forcing himself to sound grateful.

He dragged himself up the stairs to his stuffy attic room. There was no way he was staying here. He wanted to _clear_ his head, not make it worse. Besides, Alfred might walk in and question him at any moment. So he grabbed his winter coat, then slunk down the back stairs again, hoping no one would see him.

It was good to be alone. The day had been warm enough to melt most of the snow, leaving only a thin, half-hearted carpet of slush on the ground where it was shaded. The night air tasted cool and clean in Jimmy’s lungs. It wasn’t a bad night to be alive, even if – well – even if you’d only just realized that you might be a sexual pervert.

_Invert_ , Jimmy thought vaguely. He’d read of such things, of course, even in the days before Downton and before Thomas. Perhaps that was another sign that he wasn’t normal. He shouldn’t even have had that curiosity before. Or maybe reading of such things had given him the idea?

Jimmy stuffed his hands in his pockets and paced the grounds. He’d always been something of a coward, and he knew it. This was no different. He knew it would be much, much easier to pretend he was normal and never let anyone know his secret, not even Thomas or another man of that sort (if he ever met any). And yet, the thought of Thomas going off with someone else _hurt_ him, like a knife in his side. Would it be worth the risk if it meant keeping Thomas for himself? _I might have to speak up_ , he thought, horrified. _And saying we’re just mates might not be enough now._

From the corner of his eye Jimmy could see two forms walking slowly towards him. He ducked behind a tree, guilty and cross, too. The last thing he needed was for any of the other staff to see him walking about when he had said he was going up to his room.

He relaxed just a little when he heard Mrs. Crawley’s voice.

“What is it you wanted to ask me about?” Jimmy heard her say. They had drawn close enough for him to see that her companion was Doctor Clarkson. He tensed, thinking he should run out and ask after Thomas: he might have gotten worse again, and Clarkson had come up to tell the family. The doctor’s face certainly looked drawn. Jimmy clasped his hands together, hesitating. It couldn’t be anything that bad – could it? And he knew he’d look like a fool if Clarkson had only stopped by to see Mrs. Crawley.

That was far more likely, Jimmy decided. Thomas was fine. He had to be.

“I don’t even know where to begin,” Clarkson said. “I’m afraid my – concerns will sound rather mad.”

Jimmy’s ears pricked up. _Oh_ , he thought. In that case, he had a feeling he knew where this was going.

“Well, you’ve come all this way,” Mrs. Crawley said in that bright, brisk voice. “There’s no harm in talking things over, is there?”

Clarkson gave a half laugh.

“I’m not so sure.”

“Come, now,” Mrs. Crawley coaxed him.

Silence fell between them for a moment. Jimmy leaned his head back and rubbed his face with a cold hand. His jaw was tense, but he didn’t want to have to crack it and risk missing a single word.

“You remember,” Clarkson went on, just a few paces behind Jimmy, “during the war – before Lord and Lady Grantham agreed to turn Downton into a convalescent home – one of my patients killed himself? A young officer…”

“I do,” Mrs. Crawley said. “It was a terrible tragedy.”

“I didn’t – foresee it at all at the time,” Clarkson said. Jimmy thought he sounded scared as well as sad; he would have bet money that Clarkson’s mad worries involved Edward Courtenay’s sudden reappearance at the hospital. _But Thomas never said he killed himself; I would have thought he died of some wound or other…_

“But I felt responsible afterward.”

“You can’t have been,” Mrs. Crawley said to Doctor Clarkson.

“I know you heard a lot of such things after the war, among men who’d been wounded, but not here. Not in my hospital.”

“But why are you thinking of all that now?” Mrs. Crawley asked. She was always so practical, always trying to be so helpful and forward-looking. _I hate that_ , Jimmy thought. He put his hand to his mouth to stop from sighing, or maybe shouting that the answer was obvious, wasn’t it?

“I’m afraid it’ll sound – utterly mad,” Clarkson said again.

Jimmy could _hear_ the smile in Mrs. Crawley’s voice when she replied, “Why don’t you try me and see.”

“Well, I remember the young man –Lieutenant Courtenay was his name, Edward Courtenay, I believe – became very close to Barrow. They were almost inseparable when he was in hospital.”

“Ah,” Isobel said, “and you’ve been thinking about all this because you’ve been treating Barrow, am I right?”

_I’m sure there’s more to it than that, lady,_ Jimmy thought. He glared at the slush on the ground before him.

“Yes and no,” Clarkson replied.

“I hope you’re not worried Barrow will do anything similar,” Mrs. Crawley said. “Is that it?”

She knew nothing about Thomas, and precious little of what was going on, but her words made Jimmy’s blood run cold. What if Thomas _was_ thinking about it? What if he was going to try to join Edward Courtenay?

_Thomas said he was the most decent man he knew,_ Jimmy thought. _A decent man wouldn’t want someone he loved to die – would he?_ He really didn’t know. It wasn’t in character for Thomas, and yet Jimmy didn’t know if he could trust this Edward Courtenay. He was, after all, an interloper in – whatever Jimmy had had with Thomas.

“Barrow’s doing fine,” Clarkson said, “but here’s the strange thing. I could have sworn I saw that young man sitting beside him on the ward. It’s as if the memory were haunting me.”

“Well, you must have been tired,” Mrs. Crawley cut in. “And feeling guilty, even after all this time. It’s perfectly normal that you might – reminisce and feel badly.”

“But it wasn’t just once. I don’t know why I’ve been so preoccupied with him, to the point of picturing his face almost every time I go in to see Barrow…”

_You idiot_ , Jimmy thought savagely. _You did more than imagine him. Can’t you admit it?_

“Well, you can’t have seen a literal ghost,” Mrs. Crawley said. Jimmy hoped Clarkson was standing in the dark behind him getting as annoyed with her as he was.

“Perhaps you need a rest,” Jimmy heard Mrs. Crawley say.

“I might need more than that,” was Clarkson’s answer.

“Well, you can start with a rest. Why don’t you drive back to the village with me?”

Clarkson must have nodded or something that Jimmy could not see, because they began retreating back toward the house. Jimmy, however, remained as quiet as he had been while eavesdropping. He stood still, half leaning against his tree, and scowling out at the grounds.

It was all wrong. It was wrong that no one would admit what was going wrong, and it was _especially_ wrong that Thomas’s life had been no more than a footnote in Clarkson’s story. Jimmy kicked at the ground in front of him. He recalled the early days of Thomas’s illness. Thomas had been so ill and no one had cared but Jimmy.

Worse, he didn’t like that Edward Courtenay had committed suicide. It might give Thomas bad ideas. Jimmy didn’t really think anything would come of it; he was probably worrying for nothing. Thomas was a scrappy survivor. He always came out ahead, didn’t he?

And yet, Jimmy knew all too well what a fool Thomas was when he fancied someone, and Thomas had been so soppy in talking about his old love. God, it was revolting. He’d been all sighs and pale cheeks and soft tones. He’d spoken of Edward Courtenay like some sort of saint, too. Jimmy didn’t like any of it.

  _I’ve got to speak to him,_ Jimmy thought. _It’s the least I can do._


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge trigger warning for suicidal thoughts and discussion of suicide.

Edward was fading fast. Thomas hated to see it, and kept gripping Edward’s hands to reassure himself that he was still there and that they could still touch at all. But that was the only thing he _could_ do for him.

Clarkson didn’t even see Edward when he made his rounds that morning. He tensed a little as he strode onto the ward, but his eyes passed over the chair where Thomas knew Edward was sitting. Worse, he wasn’t quite as indulgent as he had been in reminding Thomas that he could leave the hospital soon. Thomas glared at him but agreed, wanting more than anything for him to go away.

He needed to be alone with Edward every moment that he could, before it was too late.

He did, however, have a plan. The thought of it made his stomach drop and brought beads of cold sweat to his brow, and he knew Edward wouldn’t approve, either – but at least he had something in mind, something that could keep him from losing Edward again.

“Are you all right?” he asked Edward. It was perhaps the fourth time that morning.

Edward sighed.

“There’s no physical pain,” he said, “but I’m so tired. I don’t have long now.”

“Don’t say that,” Thomas pleaded, grasping Edward’s hand again. It was cold and clammy to touch.

“There’s no sense in _lying_ about it,” Edward snapped. Then he softened his tone. He never did stay annoyed with Thomas for long.

“I’m just thankful for the time we had together. I knew it couldn’t last, although I didn’t want to tell you before, when you were ill. I didn’t want you to give up fighting.”

“Yeah, well…” _You won’t like what I’m proposing_ , Thomas thought. Trust Edward to be _too_ noble like that, too self-sacrificing.

Thomas took a deep breath to brace himself. “You know I want to go with you.”

He could do it, too. He remembered giving men morphine during the war, and knew he could find everything he’d need right here in the hospital. He hadn’t administered it often – if you gave it to men too readily you’d get them addicted, and if you used too much at once you could kill someone in minutes – but he’d done it enough to remember. He’d watched one man slip away from an overdose that he’d begged and begged for. Thomas could still see how peaceful he’d looked at the end, though he’d been in agony before. It didn’t seem like a bad way to go.

“Don’t start, Thomas,” Edward said sharply. “You can live a long, happy life after all this, and you _should_.”

Thomas stiffened.

“Don’t lecture me – not about my own life. You don’t know everything about me.”

“I don’t,” Edward admitted, “but I don’t want you to go through what I did.”

“But I wouldn’t, would I? You were – ” Thomas hesitated. “You were suffering. I’m making a decision because I _know_ I can get something out of it.” He stopped again, bit his lip. Edward was frowning at him and looking whiter than ever. Thomas wondered how he could make him understand.

“I’m not running away from something; I’d be going _to_ something. I know there’s something on the other side now and I want to go with you.”

Edward shook his head. His eyes were wide; he sat there with his mouth open for a long moment before he could reply.

“I can’t believe you’re considering it,” he said, after a pause. “It’s not at all what I want for you.”

Thomas sighed. He almost couldn’t believe himself.

“You know, you could just say thank you – ”

“No, indeed,” Edward said, with some fire. “Have you heard nothing that I’ve told you? I swear I won’t speak to you at all, on the other side, if you try to kill yourself.”

“Yes, you would,” Thomas said, a hint of smugness creeping into his voice. “You couldn’t help it. You came back just to see me, and I know what you’re like. Besides, there’s nothing wrong. I’m making a choice to travel from one _place_ to another, so I can be with you.”

He told himself it was no different than if he’d met a man in Manchester or London, or in traveling to New York with the Crawleys, and had found some new employment and moved cities to be with his love.

“It’s not as happy as all that,” Edward countered. “I wanted to die at the time – very much – but now when I look back, even _I’m_ not sure I made the right decision. I’ve often thought of Achilles’s lines in Homer, that you’re better off as the poorest slave of the poorest man on Earth than lord of all the wasted dead…”

Thomas gritted his teeth. Edward may have gone through hell during the war, but he’d known far less about being anyone’s slave while he was alive.

“I’m sure it would be better if you weren’t alone,” Thomas said, relieved at how level he sounded. The last thing he needed was an outright row.

Edward put his hand to his mouth. Then he tried a new track.

“What about Jimmy?” he began. “He’d be so hurt.”

Thomas looked down. He’d been trying not to think about that. It _would_ be hard on Jimmy, if he left; Thomas didn’t know if he could make his friend understand– or if he’d even have a chance to try, given how quickly Edward was fading. It was hard enough bringing Edward around, and he was far more comfortable with death than Jimmy was likely to be.

And Thomas would miss Jimmy. God knew Jimmy had given him a terrible time of it before they made friends, and even once they became best mates, it still made something tighten in Thomas’s throat whenever he looked at Jimmy and knew they could not be what Thomas wanted. But the pain of it was better than nothing at all, even now, with Edward back.

Still, Jimmy would be all right. _He_ didn’t want Thomas for anything more than a friend. And friends came and went, didn’t they? A lad like Jimmy would make plenty of friends in his life. Besides, maybe Thomas could write him a letter or something, or say goodbye at Jimmy’s next visit. Maybe they’d even meet again someday on the other side. Thomas would like that – having a lover and a best mate around, like he had in the hospital. He didn’t think he’d ever had it so good.

“He’ll be all right,” Thomas said.

“I still don’t believe you,” Edward said again. “You always had such a strong sense of survival. I admired it so much, because I could never be like that myself.”

“Yeah, well, it changed things, seeing you again,” Thomas murmured. He wanted to say that being loved – _not_ being alone – was worth something, worth everything, in fact, but the words wouldn’t come. It wasn’t like him to say those sorts of things, even if they might helpEdward to understand. Thomas wouldn’t mind going somewhere safe with a lover, where there’d be no threat from the law or of any consequence at all. It sounded better than spending the rest of his days alone polishing silver that he did not own and picking out wines that he could not enjoy for a family who barely acknowledged him. His own relations were few and wouldn’t care about him, either. His one living cousin in Bombay had made him miserable when they were boys; he wouldn’t care tuppence about Thomas now.

That left Jimmy, and only Jimmy.

“I _know_ there’s something to go to when you die,” Thomas repeated, “which is better than just rotting in the ground. I’d keep you company. And Jimmy’ll be all right sooner or later. He’d get over it, and find himself a girl…”

“I’m not so sure that’s what he wants,” Edward said, worrying at a fingernail. “He cares for you a great deal. And even if you’re right about him, you do know there are other men who are alive out there. The world didn’t end when I died.”

“Nah, but it’s not the same,” Thomas said. He shrugged, though he knew the gesture was wasted on Edward.

Edward reached for Thomas’s hand. “I’m grateful, but – ”

He stopped abruptly. When he tried to take Thomas’s hand his cold fingers passed _through_ Thomas’s skin, dispersing like fog in the sun. Thomas shuddered – he couldn’t help it; that touch was too cold, and to see the other man’s hand pass through his own was too horrible…

Edward drew his hand away as if he’d been burned.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I didn’t realize.”

“You’ve nothing to apologize for,” Thomas said. But his mouth was dry; he itched to reach for Edward again – _longed_ for it – yet felt his stomach sink at the thought of what had just happened; he didn’t dare try.

Then again, every cloud had a silver lining. If he had to do what was necessary over Edward’s protests, at least the other man wouldn’t be able to stop him.

“You should – not forget me, just move on,” Edward said. He sounded so sincere Thomas ached to take him in his arms.

“I won’t do either,” Thomas insisted. He put his hand on Edward’s, tentatively. There it was again: his fingers pressed through the other man’s as if he’d dipped his hand into water. He winced and drew his hand back.

“I’m going with you,” Thomas added.

“Don’t you dare,” Edward said, his voice rising.

Thomas, however, was already reaching for his dressing gown. He wrapped it around himself, then thrust his hands into his pockets. They were rather full. After all, he needed his lighter and his cigarettes wherever he went, and he had never found a better place to hide the discarded hat pin he’d salvaged from Lady Edith and used very well in picking locks to steal wine and things. The memories made him sigh.

“I have to make my own decision,” he said to Edward.

“But it’s not your decision, is it?” Edward asked bitterly. “You would never have considered it if not for me.”

“Well, things change,” Thomas said. He remembered more or less where Clarkson kept the supplies he needed, and took a hesitant step away from his bed. His ears rang. He didn’t think there was anything wrong with him – but it had been so long since he’d walked about this much. His legs were shaking.

Maybe he was nervous about his errand, too.

“I beg of you don’t do this,” Edward said. He rose from his chair to follow Thomas, taking up his walking stick and leaning on it as he spoke.

Thomas’s chest tightened. Didn’t Edward realize how hard this was for him? It wouldn’t have been an easy choice to make even without Edward trying to dissuade him.

“Would you stop saying things like that,” Thomas snapped.

“I won’t,” Edward retorted. “I want you to live and let go of me.”

“I had to do that already, thanks to you,” Thomas muttered. Then he flinched at the look of pain that crossed Edward’s white face.

“I’m sorry I caused you grief at the time,” Edward admitted after a moment. “But I don’t want you to make the same mistake I did.”

“It won’t be a mistake in this case,” Thomas said, though his voice shook. Edward _must_ have heard his hesitation.

“Don’t you think you’d be better off if we were together?” Thomas went on.

Edward stopped in his tracks. He turned his face away from Thomas’s voice and let his shoulders slump from their usual upright posture.

“I would,” he said. “I would _love_ to be able to be with you. Seeing you every day – yes. But it’s not about me.”

Thomas couldn’t answer that. He sighed and turned away.

A few paces down the corridor brought him to Clarkson’s store room. Thomas ducked into it before Edward could sap all his resolve.

“Thomas?” Edward called after him.

Thomas grimaced a little. He couldn’t bring himself to say no to Edward.

“I’m in the store room, a few feet forward and to the left,” Thomas directed him. He had already opened three drawers. In the third one he found a syringe of the kind he would need, if he went through with his plan. He hid it in the pocket of his dressing gown, ignoring his sudden feeling of nausea, and turned to stare at the vials of morphine behind the glass of a cabinet.

_It won’t hurt_ , he reminded himself. _If I do it._ Then he felt the small room grow cold behind him and turned, smiling. Edward had found him at last.

“Looking for some appropriate poison?” Edward asked.

“It’s an option that I need,” Thomas insisted.

“Well, when you’re finished you should go back to the ward before you get caught stealing and set the whole hospital in an uproar.”

“I won’t get caught,” Thomas said. He wished he could just smash the cabinet before him and have done with it, but that would almost certainly result in immediate discovery. And this was a sensitive – and terrifying – matter. He couldn’t have Clarkson or anyone forcing his hand.

Thomas, however, was prepared for that. He could pick this lock too. The hat pin and his years of experience served him well; the lock yielded quickly. Thomas glanced over his shoulder at Edward and steeled himself before slipping the pin and two vials of morphine into his pocket.

“I – I can go back now, if you like,” he said, closing the cabinet door so it would appear untouched. He wished he could take Edward by the arm and lead him back to bed, though it was rather late for that.

Edward made it back to Thomas’s bed before Thomas did, without needing assistance. Thomas’s steps faltered. He kept thinking of the tools he had in his pocket – the tools he might need very soon, before he lost Edward and before anyone started to suspect – and having to suppress a shudder.

*

“Doctor Clarkson’s not here,” the nurse said, shifting as if to block Jimmy’s entrance.

Jimmy scowled and thrust his hands into his pockets. He’d stolen away from Downton to see Thomas, not stupid Doctor Clarkson.

“Well, I’m not here for him – and he never minded my visits,” he said, sulkily. The nurse looked a few years older than he was himself, but she had a narrow, timid, look about her – as if she’d be too afraid to make any decision at all on her own.

“You’ve seen me before,” he added. “My best mate’s been really ill, and I’ve got to talk to him.”

The woman crinkled her nose.

“Barrow, you mean?”

_You’ve_ seen _me, idiot_ , Jimmy thought, but managed to nod.

“Very well, then. But you’ll have to find your own way. I’ve got enough on my hands.”

“Thanks,” Jimmy said. He tore at the skin around one fingernail with his thumb. For heaven’s sake, he was standing on the edge of the worst precipice he’d ever come across, and about to do one of the hardest things he could imagine. He _still_ thought he might just choke on the words or run away and never let Thomas know. The last thing he needed was for some pretentious nurse to be following him around when he spoke to Thomas…

He glanced over his shoulder several times as he approached Thomas’s ward. Thomas was sitting up in his bed, smoking a cigarette. His eyes met Jimmy’s from across the room.

That brief look was enough to make Jimmy’s cheeks warm. He nodded a jerky little nod and took a few steps closer to Thomas.

“You’re early,” Thomas said, smiling. Was it Jimmy’s imagination, or was Thomas’s smile weaker than normal? Jimmy looked around the room again. He couldn’t _see_ the ghost, but that fact did precious little to settle his nerves.

“I just – really wanted to see you,” Jimmy replied, and stared down at his feet.

“That’s nice of you,” Thomas said in a low voice. “Is everything all right?

“Fine.”

The word was out of Jimmy’s mouth before he even realized it. He forced himself to look at Thomas again. Thomas was frowning at him. Jimmy raised a hand to rub his neck, wondering if he _looked_ bad or worried or anything.

“Why don’t you come sit down?” Thomas asked.

Jimmy stepped closer still, but shook his head.

“I’d rather stand for now,” he said. It wouldn’t look as familiar if that stupid nurse came back, and it would allow him to run away faster if he had to. He didn’t want to take any option, any escape route, off the table just yet.

“Jimmy, is something the matter?”

“No,” Jimmy repeated. “I just want to know how you are…”

Thomas didn’t respond for a moment. Jimmy could feel sweat beading at his brow. _Oh God, Thomas,_ he thought. _Don’t make this harder. I can’t say what I have to if you make things harder for me._ Had Jimmy interrupted something? Was Thomas feeling worse, heaven forbid, or had Jimmy interrupted him in doing something – anything – with Edward Courtenay, the other man?

_The dead man_ , Jimmy thought with a shudder.

“I’m fine,” Thomas said.

Jimmy let out a breath.

“That’s good,” he said. “When are you coming back to Downton?”

That awful silence fell once more. Jimmy looked around for the umpteenth time, before settling his gaze on Thomas’s handsome face. He caved and dropped onto the cot across from Thomas, perching himself on its edge.

“I don’t know, exactly,” Thomas answered.

“Well, I wish you’d hurry up,” Jimmy said. He tried to sound teasing, normal, but his voice quaked.

“Can’t you get on without me?” Thomas asked.

_No_ , Jimmy thought. It was the sort of teasing he and Thomas had grown used to, but this time, the words made his chest tighten. He could hardly breathe, let alone make such a damning confession. _I wish I hadn’t come down at all._

“I miss you,” he heard himself say. “Can’t I do that?”

 Thomas’s face fell. His brow creased into a look of pain, and he opened his mouth without saying anything. Jimmy licked at his lip. He thought of how empty Downton had been these last days. It was sad, really, how few friends he had – how few people he even wanted to talk to – aside from Thomas, and how close he’d come to throwing that all away.

_But that doesn’t mean I love him,_ he thought, _does it? Maybe it does._

“That’s kind of you to say,” Thomas replied, weakly.

Jimmy’s insides leapt. He supposed it was a bad sign, if the smallest hint of a compliment threw him all off balance like this.

“It’s been dreadful,” Jimmy said. He forced himself to ignore that strange sensation in his stomach, as if he’d swallowed butterflies. The ward was quiet for now, but he might not get another chance like this.

But saying it was dreadful didn’t tell Thomas anything. Jimmy worried at his lip, realizing he would have to make a better confession than that.

Thomas only frowned more deeply.

“Jimmy, you haven’t seemed right all week,” he said. “If you’re in some trouble let me _help_ you.” A tinge of annoyance stole into his voice. Jimmy sighed in exasperation, only to be cut off by Thomas. “I’m feeling much better and I can hear you out, you know.”

“I want you to come back,” Jimmy blurted out. “That’s what. I want to see more of you.” Jimmy looked down. _I’m like you and I think I love you._ “I want to _be_ with you.”

It all sounded terribly foolish, but it seemed to get the message across now. Thomas blinked.

“Jimmy, what are you saying?”

“You _know_ what I’m saying,” Jimmy pleaded. “You were right, and I hate the thought of being without you.”

Thomas sank back against the pillows. Jimmy stared at him and tapped his foot on the cold, hard floor. He wondered if he should reach for Thomas’s hand or if that would be too suspicious. The thought brought a wave of nausea with it. He would have liked to hold Thomas, to reassure him, but how could he ever get used to this life? Clarkson or the nurse might come in at any time and guess…

“So I _was_ right about you,” Thomas said. He sounded tired, though Jimmy would have expected joy. Jimmy stiffened. _Don’t make me say all this and then leave me hanging…_ He swallowed hard.

“What do we do?” Jimmy asked. _There_ , he thought. He was proud of having pulled himself together and asked something useful.

The question brought a small, faint smile to Thomas’s face. Jimmy deflated. He wondered if Thomas could really prefer a dead man to him – or perhaps Thomas hadn’t forgiven him for last year’s crisis, not truly. Jimmy held his breath and waited for a reply.

“What do you _want_ to do?” Thomas replied at last.

Jimmy blinked. Thomas hadn’t sounded half as warm as he hoped.

“I don’t know,” Jimmy said.

Thomas gave a little sigh, and seemed to soften. He shifted forward on the bed and reached for Jimmy’s hand, pausing just before they could touch. Jimmy clasped his hand. There was no hesitating this time. Thomas’s fingers were so warm beneath Jimmy’s own, and his grip was strong when he returned Jimmy’s. Jimmy’s skin tingled. It seemed suddenly awfully sad that they couldn’t stay like that forever.

But they couldn’t. Jimmy glanced around the ward again.

“Do you think we can manage?” he asked. His mouth was dry.

Thomas smiled. Jimmy recognized the look; it was that sweet, soppy one he’d worn around Jimmy ever since they met, and that had also been on his face when Jimmy saw him with Edward Courtenay.

“Manage what?”

Jimmy’s head felt so hot, he could have been standing over Mrs. Patmore’s oven. He was sure his cheeks must be beet red to match.

“When you come back to Downton,” Jimmy said. Thomas _couldn’t_ choose anyone else now – not after Jimmy’s sacrifice today.

Yet Thomas’s smile shrank at that; it no longer lit his whole face. Jimmy shuddered again.

“Thanks for speaking up,” Thomas said. “I know how hard it must have been, and it means the world to me.”

Jimmy narrowed his eyes. He didn’t think Thomas could know what this had cost him, and he racked his brain for a smart comment that would show Thomas – or make Thomas appreciate him – but the damned nurse walked into the room. Jimmy heard the clicking noise of her shoes on the tile. He jumped back, pulling his hand away from Thomas.

“I take it you’re James?” she asked.

“What’s wrong?” Jimmy asked. _What did I do now?_

The nurse glared at him.

“I’ve just had a telephone call from the butler up at Downton Abbey,” she said shortly. “Your employers won’t be happy to find that you’ve disappeared, and you’re to report back to work immediately.” She forced a smile for Thomas and bobbed her head. “Sorry to upset you, Barrow…”

Thomas cleared his throat.

“I’m fine,” he said. He gazed up Jimmy with a strange, guarded look on his face. “We’ll talk more soon, all right? Don’t get yourself sacked on my account.”

Jimmy forced a smile.

“I won’t,” he said. His legs seemed like lead when he tried to stand up. “And you take care of yourself and be back soon, will you?”

“Take care,” Thomas replied. It wasn’t the answer Jimmy had hoped for. He hurried out of the ward, nodded at the nurse, but sneaked a long backward glance at Thomas before he could tear himself away.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, strong trigger warning for suicide and contemplation of suicide. Also, the first part of this reprises the Thommy conversation from Chapter Six but from Thomas's perspective.

Thomas wasn’t expecting Jimmy. Not at this hour, at any rate. He was sitting up in bed, smoking his cigarettes, and wondering rather morbidly how long he had until he should die.

Edward had said very little since their exchange in the store room. Thomas knew that if Edward still had his eyesight, they would have been glaring at one another in stony silence. He’d had a few moments like that with Philip years before, when they both proved too stubborn for their own good, though he hadn’t quite expected it from Edward. Edward was softer, kinder – but he could give Thomas a run for his money when he had to.

And then Thomas heard the sound of footsteps pounding through the ward, a young man from the step and very agitated. Edward blinked in surprise, but said nothing. He wouldn’t want to frighten a visitor who couldn’t see him.

Thomas, meanwhile, nearly choked on his cigarette smoke when Jimmy burst into the room. Still he managed to smile. He _loved_ Jimmy, even if he had difficult news for him, and even if this might be one of the last times they saw each other.

“You’re early,” he said, as teasing as he could be. From the corner of his eye he saw Edward fidgeting in his chair. Jimmy, however, clearly couldn’t see Edward at all. Thomas frowned. It was awkward having two men he loved in the same room at the same time, but it was much, much worse knowing that Edward had grown so weak.

“I – really wanted to see you,” Jimmy said. He seemed unhappy, what with the way he was staring at the floor or gazing around the room as if someone would catch him. Thomas wondered if he was in trouble. _Damn it – I_ _can’t die on him if he needs my help…_

“That’s nice of you,” Thomas said, trying not to look over at Edward, who was sitting silently by Thomas’s side. “Is everything all right?

“Fine.”

But Jimmy did not look fine. He was twitchy, worse than he’d been at any time during Thomas’s convalescence.

“Why don’t you come sit down?” Thomas asked. He kept his voice gentle, as it usually was when he spoke to Jimmy.

Jimmy took a few, slow steps forward, then shook his head and said he preferred to stand. Thomas was sure something untoward had happened.

“Jimmy, is something the matter?” He couldn’t give his friend bad news now. Damn it; the whole thing was inconvenient. Despite their troubled history, Thomas was a fool, and loved Jimmy too well to let him flounder in some scrape without trying to help. He suppressed a sigh and avoided looking at Edward.

“No,” Jimmy said. _Of course he’ll make it extra difficult._ “I just want to know how you are…”

Thomas didn’t know what to say. He was _feeling_ much better, but that was the least of his worries. As for what was really in his mind – well. He didn’t even know where to start. _I’m well and happy, thanks, but I’ve got a lethal dose of morphine on me so I can join my dead love in the afterlife. Don’t worry; you’d like him if you knew him and if you could tolerate men like us… Oh, God._ Thomas fought the urge to break into hysterical laughter.

“I’m fine,” he said.

Was it him, or did Jimmy relax a little at that? Maybe he was concerned for Thomas’s health, nothing more. Then again, the news Thomas had to break wouldn’t be any more welcome for all that.

“When are you coming back to Downton?” Jimmy asked, intruding into Thomas’s thoughts.

It was the perfect opportunity to explain. But Jimmy sounded so loving, and of course Edward took that moment to shoot a dark look Thomas’s way. He couldn’t defend his decision like this.

“I don’t know, exactly,” he said as Jimmy finally sat down on an empty cot beside Thomas. He had that darling pouting expression on his face, the one that made Thomas go weak in the knees. It was a little hard to see, today, when Thomas had sworn up and down that he wanted to spend eternity with Edward.

“Well, I wish you’d hurry up,” Jimmy said. He sounded awfully sad.

“Can’t you get on without me?” Thomas asked. It wasn’t being familiar; they often teased one another like that. He hoped a little joke might cheer Jimmy up, though he doubted it, and couldn’t make himself sound very cheerful, either. He was too aware of Edward sitting beside him and fading to nothing, invisible to everyone but Thomas.

 “I miss you,” Jimmy replied. Then his face flushed and his voice rose. “Can’t I do that?”

Thomas opened his mouth, but found nothing to say. Didn’t Jimmy realize what comments like that did to him? It was no wonder Thomas had thought Jimmy might return his feelings, all those sad, foolish months ago. And Edward was sitting right by them, even though Jimmy didn’t know it. He’d be sure to get on Thomas’s case again with renewed fervour.

 “That’s kind of you,” Thomas managed. He wondered how he could change the subject, wheedle out of Jimmy whatever was bothering him, and give him some good advice before – before what? Saying goodbye?

But Jimmy seemed determined to drag out the guilt.

“It’s been dreadful,” he said.

Thomas looked away. Normally, it would have been flattering to hear how Jimmy missed him. Today, however, the words seemed to tear Thomas’s heart in two.

“Jimmy, you haven’t seemed right all week,” he began, trying, and perhaps failing, to keep his irritation from showing. “If you’re in some trouble let me _help_ you. I can hear you out, you know.”

Jimmy went pale. Thomas stared at him in concern, wishing he could reach for his friend. Something about Jimmy’s manner reminded him of himself in the store room. He thought again of the morphine and the syringe in his pocket and felt a drop of sweat beading at his brow.

“I want you to come back,” Jimmy blurted out. “That’s what. I want to see more of you.” He paused, hesitating. Thomas told himself that he couldn’t be hearing what he thought he was hearing – the words couldn’t mean what he would have liked them to. _I’m not making that mistake again._

“I want to _be_ with you.”

Thomas stopped breathing for a moment – he couldn’t. _I want to be with you._ That, at least, sounded clear enough – but he’d been wrong before, hadn’t he? From the corner of his eye he saw a muscle in Edward’s jaw tighten. Thomas worried at his bottom lip.

 “Jimmy, what are you saying?”

Now Jimmy’s cheeks flushed bright red.

“You _know_ what I’m saying,” he said. The words sounded wrung out of him. “You were right, and I hate the thought of being without you.”

Thomas sank backwards. After all his lonely nights – all his fear of going through life alone, losing his place and going to prison to boot – Jimmy _did_ feel something for him. He stared slack jawed at his friend.

Of all the times for Jimmy to come out with it, too.

“So I _was_ right about you,” Thomas said. He could think of nothing more.

Jimmy waited for what felt like an age. At length he asked, “What do we do?”

Thomas smiled. Of course Jimmy assumed that they were now _we_ , and that whatever they would do, they would do together. That was the outer Jimmy, the one who liked to seem so sure of himself. But his voice quaked when he asked the question, betraying his fear. _If only I could go away somewhere, with you and Edward – a haunted cottage or something where we all could live. If only it weren’t so difficult._

 “What do you _want_ to do?” Thomas countered.

Jimmy blinked.

“I don’t know,” he said.

Well, of course he would be unsure. This time, Thomas did look over at Edward. He felt like a traitor – but he couldn’t leave Jimmy hanging, either. He reached for Jimmy’s hand, as he had so often longed to do.

Jimmy met him halfway.

“Do you think we can manage?” he asked.

Thomas’s stomach clenched. He would have given anything to hear Jimmy say something like that – as if they were planning a life together.

“Manage what?” he tried to tease him.

“When you come back to Downton…”

 _Right,_ Thomas thought. His hands grew cold. Would he do that? Would he abandon one man he loved to a lonely purgatory and go home with Jimmy? He’d have to think on it all – if the decision alone didn’t kill him, or drive him mad.

“Thanks for speaking up,” Thomas said slowly. “I know how hard it must have been, and it means the world to me.”

He was almost relieved when the nurse came in to pass on Carson’s scolding. _Almost_. Of course he never liked to see Jimmy go, but he didn’t much like sitting there with Edward beside him having to pretend he’d already disappeared.

“We’ll talk more soon, all right?” Thomas said. He hoped his fear wouldn’t show in his voice. He couldn’t let on to what was inside him, not now. Not when Jimmy had tried so hard to pluck up his courage and come forward. “Don’t get yourself sacked on my account.”

But part of him seemed to leave the ward when Jimmy did.

 _Only_ part of him, however. The half that was left sat up and looked to Edward.

“I’m sorry you had to hear that,” he said. His stomach seemed to have tied itself into knots, and he didn’t know what to _feel_. He was as exhausted as he had ever been, even during the worst of his illness, but that was all he was certain of.

“Don’t be,” Edward replied. “I’m glad. You must go with him now.”

Thomas propped himself up on his elbow. Edward sat as composed as ever in the chair beside Thomas’s bed, but his shoulders were hunched, just a little. And was it Thomas’s imagination, or could he see the darkness of the wood panels behind Edward through the ghost’s white skin? He thought he could. The sight made Thomas’s throat tighten.

“Did you hear me?” Edward asked. There was an edge of panic in his voice, as if he were afraid he had lost that ability, too.

“Of course,” Thomas replied quickly. “But I don’t know what to say.”

“You should say goodbye to me,” Edward said, “and that you’ll see me several decades from now. That would work.”

He put a hand to his face to hide his look of pain. Thomas winced.

“And what about you?” Thomas asked.

Edward lowered his hand and shrugged.

“I made my choice years ago. Now I have to bear the cost.”

It was all wrong – wrong and unfair _._ Edward had suffered so much at the end, between the war, the loss of his eyesight and his family’s respect, and his death. Thomas hated to think of him dying alone again.

But Thomas didn’t know if he dared to die himself, after he’d fought to survive all his life. And Jimmy – Jimmy would suffer too, if Thomas left him for Edward. For all his restless, boyish peevishness, and for all the grief he had given Thomas out of fear, he didn’t deserve to be abandoned like that, did he? He had already suffered in speaking up about his love. Thomas had _seen_ that.

 _His love_. The words warmed Thomas’s face and heart, even as he reached for Edward’s hand. He was no longer fearful. His fingers touched translucent skin and cold air, as if he’d slipped his hand out of a window in wintertime.

“You don’t deserve that,” he said. “To be all alone like that. And I don’t want to see you go.”

Edward forced the smile back onto his face.

“I’ll be fine,” he said, bravely. “Anyway, I expect I’ll still be around a little, in the next few days. You might see me or – or hear my voice or something…” He stopped short. Thomas closed his eyes, unable to stand it.

“That’s not what I meant,” he murmured.

Edward cleared his throat.

“You can’t possibly prefer me, after everything your friend told you,” he said.  

Thomas wasn’t so sure. He felt torn in two; he _loved_ Edward as much as he loved Jimmy, though the prospect of not dying could well tip the scales in Jimmy’s favour. But then, even thinking that made Thomas choke up with guilt…

“I’ll see,” he said.

Edward’s eyes widened. “You can’t be serious.”

“I don’t know _what_ to think,” Thomas snapped. “I’m staring at the hardest decision of my life, and I’d thank you not to – not to try and scare me off, because I do love you, you know…”

A faint tinge of pink crept into Edward’s translucent skin.

“You’re wonderful,” he said. “And I’m sorry I didn’t stay with you when I was alive. But I have nothing to offer you now.”

That wasn’t true, Thomas thought. Edward and Jimmy _both_ had what to offer him, for all they were so different. That was the bloody problem.

“You tell me you’ve got nothing for me, and then you say things like that…”

Edward sighed. “I say them because they’re true – but it’s also true that I don’t want you to die.”

They’d been through it a thousand times already. At least, it felt like they had. Mind you, Thomas hadn’t been over it – over _anything_ – in light of Jimmy’s confession. His head swam.

“ _Please_ ,” Thomas said, “I need quiet for a bit, for heaven’s sake. I’ve got to think…”

Edward gnawed at one white fingernail for a moment, before smiling the wry sad smile that Thomas loved so well.

“All right,” he said.

And, finally, a deathly silence fell over the ward.

*

“You’re quite well,” Doctor Clarkson said. “Your lungs are clear. I think you’ll agree it’s time to go home, isn’t it?”

Thomas nodded absently. A shudder ran through him. Clarkson’s words were so reminiscent of what he had said to Edward the last time he had seen him alive. He glanced at Edward, wincing at the deep frown on his face. It all reminded him yet again of the choice he had to make. He was half dizzy with nerves.

“Now,” Clarkson went on, “I will want to see you in the next few days, to follow up. Friday morning should work.”

“Yes, thanks,” Thomas murmured.

“You shouldn’t need any assistance packing this evening, and I’m sure your friends up at the Abbey will be glad to assist you in any way.”

Thomas resisted the urge to snort. But Clarkson hadn’t yet noticed the missing syringe and the two vials of morphine in Thomas’s half-packed suitcase. Besides, Thomas wanted to say a proper goodbye to Edward. It wouldn’t do to provoke the doctor now.

Clarkson turned away from Thomas to write something down. “You’re not to do any strenuous work just yet, and I’d still like you to minimize cigarette smoking.”

Thomas agreed. This time, he could not suppress a grimace of annoyance. If he was to leave the hospital tonight, then the last thing he needed was Clarkson wasting his precious time with Edward on nonsense like that.

“Take care, Barrow,” Clarkson added, pompously.

Thomas rolled his eyes behind the doctor’s head.

“Thank you, Doctor Clarkson,” he said as Clarkson turned from the ward.

Edward stirred in his seat as soon as they were alone.  He didn’t like to draw attention to himself, though Thomas doubted Clarkson or anyone else could see him now.

 “You _are_ going home,” Edward said, “aren’t you? To Jimmy…”

Thomas thought again of that tidy future the three of them could never have – the haunted cottage somewhere where he could keep them both – and tried to smile, though his chest ached.

“I hate to leave you,” he said.

“But I’m happy for you,” Edward replied. “It’s what I want, and I wish you well.” He hesitated, sounding as if he were choking up. The pain in his voice was like a knife to Thomas’s heart.

“I love you,” Thomas said, though it seemed terribly inadequate.

Edward forced the smile back onto his pale face. “I feel the same. You know that.” He reached for Thomas, still hesitant. “But I’m not dragging you into the underworld with me. You should put the drugs away before you get found out.”

But Thomas wasn’t going to do that. Not _that_ ; not quite. He looked at Edward – the thin, handsome face, the ruined eyes, the skin that was almost transparent now – and reached out, putting his hands on the ghost’s shoulders. He didn’t shudder this time, though he had to be gentle, to avoid going right through Edward’s form. He recalled pressing his hands into snow as a child, the few times he’d had snow to play in.

Edward tensed.

“Thomas, you don’t have to…”

“Well, I want to,” Thomas said, and pressed his mouth to Edward’s as gently as he’d taken him in his arms, kissing lips that were too cold and too soft. Edward tried to shake his head, but didn’t draw back. In another moment Thomas felt Edward return that soft kiss.

But half of Thomas’s brain imagined Jimmy instead, kissing him almost like this in his attic room at Downton or in some lonely, hidden corner of the grounds. He flushed. His heart was heavy when he pulled back to breathe, because he felt like a traitor. It was what Edward said he wanted, and yet it didn’t seem right.

“How long do you think you have?” Thomas asked. A lump came into his throat.

Edward gestured vaguely.

“I don’t know,” he replied. “I might be able to appear Friday, next time you’re here, but I might not.”

“And – ” Thomas was grasping at straws now – “I take it you can’t leave the hospital?”

Edward furrowed his brow. “Go someplace I never set foot when I was alive? No, I – I doubt that. I’m _sorry_. But you know it doesn’t matter. You should be packing, not drawing things out.”

Packing wasn’t much of a distraction. Thomas had had so little when he was brought to hospital – a change of clothes, his pajamas, hat and the cigarettes Clarkson kept clucking about. He could leave at once. He could leave, and tell Jimmy he still loved him and would protect him from his own fears as well as society’s laws. It would have been the most perfect happiness Thomas could imagine, if Edward hadn’t entered his life again.

Thomas, however, couldn’t bring himself to be upset with either of them.

“Take care,” Edward said, as if everything were settled.

Perhaps it was, for now. Thomas looked about him. For the first time that day, he thought he knew where he was going and what he would choose, though it hardly seemed the right answer.

Nothing seemed the right answer.


	8. We That Are Left

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am finally posting the closing chapters of this story. Please note (SPOILER, though it will be very helpful to read this) that Chapter Eight, “We That Are Left” features a Thomas/Jimmy ending, while Chapter Nine, “The Going Down of the Sun”, has a Thomas/Edward ending that grows out of the other option but then diverges. NEITHER is meant to be more authoritative than the other, regardless of the order they appear in; both endings are an integral part of the story and form the original resolution to the love triangle that I conceived of way back in May. Incidentally, writing and editing two parallel but divergent endings was one of the major delays I had in finishing this story. Both titles are taken from Laurence Binyon’s poem For the Fallen. Finally, many, many thanks to Charlie aka ALittleWhos-This for all her help, support, beta-reading, plotting and general encouragement – and thanks to all my readers for sticking with me and encouraging me as well!

Jimmy’s smile was so bright when Thomas returned to Downton that Thomas thought he might melt the snow that lingered on the grounds. He was well on his way to melting Thomas’s heart, except, of course, for the part of it that remained with Edward and that worried for him still.

Everyone congratulated Thomas on his recovery. They were very pleased to have him back – or, as seemed more likely, very false, in a way that set Thomas’s teeth on edge. Bates gave him a self-righteous smirk and remarked that the house hadn’t been the same without him. Thomas smiled tightly and said nothing more. Even his Lordship welcomed Thomas back when they passed for a moment in the library.

But none of them mattered: not really. Only Jimmy did. Thomas had come back for him, after all.

He watched Jimmy’s face all through dinner that night, barely able to believe what Jimmy had told him. He ate little. Mrs. Patmore’s cooking was far better than what he’d had in the hospital, yet Thomas was too preoccupied to enjoy it. Had Jimmy’s confession been real or just a dream?

 _It_ was _real_ , Thomas reminded himself. The sparkle in Jimmy’s eyes when they looked at each other and the blush on his face confirmed it. Thomas smiled at him.

“Are you all right?” Ivy asked Jimmy one time, as she was bringing in the soup. She batted her lashes in a clumsy flirting look that made Thomas want to laugh at her. He covered his face with his napkin instead.

But Jimmy started and went pale. Thomas tensed, a cold knot settling into the pit of his stomach.

“It’s hot in here,” Jimmy said, seconds later. He sounded petulant – and as natural as anything. He’d recovered well.

“That’s all,” he added. “Can’t anyone else feel it?”

Thomas relaxed.

“Jimmy’s right,” he said. “’Course, it’s always warm here – from being so near the kitchen. Isn’t it obvious?”

The danger passed as easily as that. Ivy mumbled something about it being far warmer _in_ the kitchen, and Anna launched into a dull story of Lady Mary ruining one of her frocks by playing too near the fire as a young girl. Jimmy was soon back to grinning across the table at Thomas.

They stayed together late into the evening for cards. Thomas couldn’t tear his eyes away from Jimmy’s face. Jimmy looked contented, cheerful, as he had been most of the night, but he said little and played poorly. Thomas was just as bad. He fidgeted in his chair, wishing Jimmy would say something, and remembering his and Edward’s easy, quiet companionship.

“It’s, um, nice to be back,” Thomas began.

“It’s good to have you,” Jimmy replied. His cheeks reddened. This time, they weren’t close enough to the kitchen to account for it. Thomas didn’t _think_ he’d misunderstood and left Edward for nothing… 

“Do you want to talk upstairs?” Jimmy asked.

Thomas let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

“Yeah,” he said, his pulse quickening. “I’d like that.” But he wasn’t foolhardy enough to forget himself. “I’ll go up first, if you like, so no one’ll think anything of it.”

Jimmy nodded.

“Right,” he said. “We can talk, like.”

 _Like that time after the fair_ , Thomas thought, recalling his rare act of gallantry. He tried to smile, but didn’t think he got very far.

“Be along soon,” he pleaded. He rose and mounted the stairs, glancing backward at Jimmy several times.

There was nothing wrong with going up and to bed, yet Thomas moved as silently as he could through the dim corridor. When he reached his own room, he didn’t dare undress. All he could do was sit down in the armchair by the bed to wait. He remembered Edward’s patience throughout his illness, the way he had sat by him. Part of him almost wished he were still in the hospital.

 _Almost_.

The door creaked open a minute later. Thomas stiffened and looked up to meet Jimmy’s eyes. They were wide in the dark bedroom. Jimmy gave a shaky smile, shrugged, then shut the door behind him.

“So,” he said. He swallowed.

Thomas’s hands trembled.

“Do you want to – come closer?” Thomas whispered.

Jimmy nodded. He crossed the floor to stand in front of Thomas, then stopped in his tracks.

Thomas frowned.

“I, um…” He didn’t know what to say.

Jimmy found his voice first.

“I couldn’t stand being without you,” he said. “And I couldn’t – you know I saw him, Edward Courtenay, I mean. I couldn’t stand the thought of you having been with anyone else. I’m sorry, I just – I couldn’t.”

Thomas gave a half-laugh and shook his head. Of course jealousy would be quite the motivationfor Jimmy. But then, Thomas could be petty like that himself. He remembered inviting _Daisy_ of all people to a village fair one evening just to take her away from William. He and Jimmy were alike, there was no doubt about it.

(He thought of Edward and his selflessness. He couldn’t imagine Edward being like that for anything, even as a boy, Thomas thought. A lump came to his throat. He was a little dismayed at how readily his thoughts drifted back to Edward…)

He supposed he might always be like this, at least a little, even if Jimmy did love Thomas as much as Thomas had wanted, and as much as he’d implied.

“Thanks,” Thomas murmured, collecting himself.

Jimmy put a tentative hand on Thomas’s arm.

“I never thought I’d be like this,” Jimmy went on.

Thomas raised his eyebrow.

“What - this soppy?” he teased, hoping it would be all right.

Jimmy shifted. “I meant, not a proper or normal man – a queer, or -”

Thomas must have flinched before he could help himself – he hadn’t been expecting that; he really hadn’t – because Jimmy flushed red and stammered an apology.

“Sorry, I don’t even know what to say or what to call anything anymore.”

Thomas softened.

“It’s all right,” he said. _You’re just learning, after all._

Jimmy put his free hand to his face for a moment, then lowered it and tried to smile at Thomas. “I just never thought I could be like this. I were so upset with you that time…”

His voice trailed off. Thomas held his breath, wondering what Jimmy would say, if he would even say anything more.

But Jimmy just bit his lip and shrugged. Thomas supposed he had made his confession back at the hospital, and wanted to move on from it. They didn’t need much else. _You were right. I want to_ be _with you_.

“What should we do?” Jimmy asked.

Thomas took a cigarette from his pocket. He lit it and stared at it before replying.

“We, um,” he fumbled his words, inhaling in an attempt to keep calm. “Well, we have the advantage of living in the same house, so we can see each other a lot, at least. You said you wanted that. And, well, we could – we could try kissing, if you like.”

“I would,” Jimmy broke in. He gestured toward the bed. “Can we sit down? Together?”

“Of course,” Thomas said. He got up from his chair and sat down instead on the cot, leaning against the frame and leaving a respectful distance for Jimmy. Jimmy dropped down beside him, but did not draw closer just yet. It was an odd sort of moment. They sat much too far apart to kiss, and said nothing. Thomas could hear himself breathing in the stillness and wondered if his lungs were all right after all.

“I don’t –” Thomas began. He licked his dry lips, then reached for Jimmy’s shoulder with shaking hands. He’d learned his lesson well. “I don’t want to ask for anything you’re not ready to give…”

“I’m all right,” Jimmy said. “Really, I am.”

And he shuffled closer, tilted his face upward, and kissed Thomas.

Thomas froze. It wasn’t the most passionate kiss he’d ever had – shy and close-lipped as it was – but it was warm, and it was _Jimmy_. His soft lips tasted sweet against Thomas’s mouth. By the time Jimmy pulled back Thomas was already grinning like an idiot. He had _so_ wanted this…

“Was that good?” Jimmy asked, flushed face tantalizingly close to Thomas’s. Thomas nodded.

“You were perfect,” Thomas replied

“Well, I weren’t perfect,” Jimmy said in a low voice.

Thomas didn’t know if he meant the kiss or their history, but it didn’t matter right now. He cupped Jimmy’s chin in his gloved hand.

To his dismay Jimmy stiffened, slightly, before relaxing into the touch. But he made no further move. Thomas furrowed his brow.

“We can try again if you like,” Thomas said, “or not.”

Thomas hoped he didn’t sound too annoyed when he said those last words. Jimmy’s coyness, and his unfortunate remark earlier, tried Thomas’s patience, much as he wanted to overlook them. He controlled himself and forced the thought away. Jimmy had made a momentous discovery about himself, something that couldn’t be easy to admit – not in this world, anyway. Thomas was determined to see him through it.

He did love him, after all.

“Course,” Jimmy said.

They kissed again. Thomas put his hand on Jimmy’s arm, mindful not to pull him too close too fast, though he could feel the blood rushing to his groin. It had been such a long time and God, poor, dear Edward hadn’t been able to carry through with the thing in the hospital…

Jimmy drew closer to him. The second kiss lasted longer, and Jimmy actually opened his mouth and let Thomas slip his tongue between his lips. He could feel Jimmy’s heart pounding beneath his own chest.

“I just don’t know,” Jimmy murmured as he pulled back.

Thomas swallowed hard. He wanted to do more than just _talk_ , though he realized that might be rather a lot to expect of Jimmy right now.

“Don’t know what?” Thomas prompted him.

Jimmy bit his lip. Even in the darkness Thomas could see that Jimmy’s face had turned about as red as Alfred’s hair. It wasn’t the most flattering look, or the most flattering comparison, but Thomas smiled anyway. Then he checked himself. He didn’t want Jimmy to think he was laughing at him – not at a time like this, when his good fortune was still so new and so precarious.

“You can ask me anything, and I promise I won’t – we won’t try anything you’re not comfortable with.”

“I just don’t know what to do,” Jimmy repeated, looking down. “I don’t know what to do to not be caught and I don’t – I don’t even know what to do _physically_ , exactly _._ ”

“Sh,” Thomas whispered. “You know I’d look after you. And if you want to be physical – well – we can start small.”

Jimmy gave a nervous little laugh.

“Well, I mean, I’m not stupid; I’ve got an idea, and I’ve gone to bed with someone before–”

Thomas kissed him a third time.

“A girl, I take it?” he asked. Jimmy nodded.

“No matter,” Thomas said, shrugging, and kissing Jimmy’s forehead, awkwardly. “We’ll explore together, all right?”

*

They did explore, as it were. Thomas fell asleep more sated than he had been in years, though they hadn’t even done very much. Still, the feeling of Jimmy’s warm body curled against his side made Thomas smile so hard his jaw hurt.

But his dreams were cold and confused. He saw the hospital again, only it was emptier than it had ever been – Clarkson and the nurses were nowhere to be found. It was grey, too, and misty and damp. Thomas was looking for Edward. His errand seemed urgent, as if the hospital were under attack or would soon disappear altogether, yet he could not bring his legs to move fast enough.

At last Thomas turned a corner. He thought he saw Edward standing before him, and called out his name. Edward made no reply. Thomas hurried towards him – reached him – and saw that the other man’s face was nothing more than a reflection in the glass of a cabinet.

Thomas woke up with a start. He wasn’t frightened, really, but cold drops of sweat had gathered on his brow. Yet he’d been glad to see Edward _at all_ , even in a muddled, miserable dream. And of course Jimmy had snuck back to his own room – the logical, safe thing to do – but Thomas wished he hadn’t. The darkness around him seemed as empty and lonely as the dream hospital had been moments before.

He groped first for the lamp, then for his lighter and lit a cigarette with shaking hands. He _wasn’t_ afraid, though. It was just too much to think about. That was all.

Thomas sat up in his bed to smoke the cigarette as quickly as he could. Then he went on to the next. He almost wouldn’t mind if it did harm his lungs, as Clarkson had fretted, and he had to go down to the hospital sooner.

*

Jimmy beamed at Thomas across the table at breakfast, much as he had the night before, but his eyes were brighter and more mischievous. Thomas flashed him what he hoped was a private smile. His insides felt warm, as if, for the first time in his life, his luck might hold.

This promised to be just the sort of romance he’d imagined for them: playful, teasing, and hidden in plain sight while they lived and worked in the same house. Really, it was hard not to reach for Jimmy’s hand under the table. Thomas ached to touch him. He had all but forgotten his dream and the loneliness he’d felt after waking from it.

They had few chances to be together during the day. Thomas was expected to convalesce up in his room, which meant that Jimmy as first footman had taken on a number of extra duties. The thought amused Thomas – poor Jimmy stuck working more closely than ever with Carson. Thomas looked forward to getting back on his feet and relieving Jimmy of work he knew the young man would begrudge, though of course he’d tease him about it.

But Jimmy’s absence gave Thomas lots of time to brood, too. He could only read the paper so many times before tossing it away in disgust.

Naturally, his mind turned to Edward. He wondered if the ghost still lingered in the hospital, or if he’d already returned to that unhappy grey afterlife. Thomas imagined Edward all alone there, and felt his stomach twist with guilt. For all Edward had said he wanted Thomas to live and to leave him, Thomas couldn’t shake his unease. He hated the fact that he’d left Edward alone. He _loved_ Jimmy, and grew warm with happiness whenever they shared a smile, and yet, sitting in his room alone after breakfast, Thomas couldn’t help worrying for the other man.

Jimmy came to see him during his breaks, of course. That cheered Thomas. But every time Jimmy fidgeted Thomas’s pulse would quicken and he would start to fear the worst. He wondered if Jimmy regretted his words – regretted the night they had already spent together. Had Thomas assumed too much in thinking that Jimmy was ready, and that they could work?

“You look well,” Jimmy said. His voice pulled Thomas out of his panicked train of thought. Thomas nodded.

Jimmy turned his head to look over his shoulder, furrowing his brow as if he were making some grave decision, then finally shut the door behind him. Thomas supposed it was a good sign if Jimmy was willing to be alone with him behind a closed door that anyone might see.

“I _am_ well,” Thomas replied, “only it’s awfully dull up here.”

Jimmy leaned against the door and smiled a little.

“At least you get a rest. I don’t know how you stand so much of Carson.”

Thomas laughed. “I’m used to him. Used to making myself indispensable.”

Then he raised his eyebrows and looked at Jimmy, searching the younger man’s face. Jimmy’s pupils were wide and dark, and the smile still played about his lips. Thomas relaxed.

“I’ll be happy to – give you a better time tonight,” he said.

Thomas thought he saw Jimmy frown, and tensed up again.

“If you want, I mean, if you’re still interested–”

“Sure,” Jimmy said, bowing his head in a shy nod. _False alarm_ , Thomas thought. “I’ll see you later, all right?”

*

They did spend that night together. Jimmy was almost as hesitant as he’d been the night before, and a little peevish, too. Thomas treated him as gently as he could, though he was burning up with desire, and had to remind himself not to get impatient with the younger man.

“We won’t do anything you don’t want,” Thomas reassured Jimmy, yet again. “And if you like, you can go back to your own room right now. We could just be mates again and no more, if that’s what you want.”

Jimmy shook his head.

“I _don’t_ want that,” Jimmy said. His voice sounded strangled; Thomas frowned in concern. “And anyway I’d be making it worse going back and forth between two rooms, wouldn’t I? Some of the men are still awake.”

Thomas reached for his hand. Jimmy took it very slowly. Thomas recalled Edward’s words – _He’s young. He might still be afraid of himself_ – and bit his lip. Thomas himself had always known what and who he was, accepted it without fear, and done only the bare minimum to hide it…

 _But it’s not the same for him_ , he reminded himself. _He’s doing his best – look how scared he is. But he said he wants you, didn’t he?_

“I just don’t see how we’re supposed to make it work,” Jimmy continued.

Thomas gripped his hand. Jimmy did look awfully young in the lamplight – awfully young and awfully scared. Yet he looked so sweet, too – so earnest. He was _trying_.

Thomas would be a louse not to help him through this.

“It _is_ possible,” Thomas said, voicing thoughts he’d had so often for the first time. “It wouldn’t be easy, but I’ve known other men like me who made it work – proper couples, I mean, for a long time. If you’d ever want that.”

Jimmy covered his face with his hand.

“The funny thing is I _would_ want that. I was so scared when you were ill – that you wouldn’t be in my life anymore, and I hated that thought. But…” Jimmy hesitated. “I’ve always been scared. It’s like that time at the fair – you were brave, and I just ran off. I just stood there. So now that you’re here I – I don’t know.”

A tingle ran through Thomas’s body, from his neck down to his toes. _I_ would _want that…_ Hearing those words from Jimmy meant more to him than he could say.

(He thought of Edward and the drugs hidden in his case with a brief pang of regret – but he didn’t see how he could leave Jimmy now…)

“I’m not that brave,” Thomas said. “But I love you, and that’s what matters.”

Jimmy shrugged. He gripped Thomas’s hand tighter, as if he were about to shake it. Thomas would have teased him if their discussion hadn’t been so serious.

“I think we could do it,” Thomas continued. “I mean, we’re already mates. People don’t take much notice of us anymore. And–” He paused, dimly aware that he might scare Jimmy off, but choosing to throw caution to the winds anyway. A wonderful thought had dawned on him. “You know we needn’t stay here. I could apply for positions as a butler somewhere and then take you on, or maybe do something different – the world _is_ changing, after all. There are all those hotels Alfred’s always on about. We could both find what to do in a real city, and we’d have more privacy…”

“You’re daft,” Jimmy said. “Twenty four hours, and you already want to run away with me?”

Thomas’s cheeks went warm. “I didn’t say we should, necessarily. But it would be possible, and maybe you wouldn’t have to worry so much in a different sort of place.”

Jimmy leaned forward to kiss Thomas. Instinctively, Thomas wrapped the younger man in his arms. Jimmy’s whole body seemed to melt into his touch.

“I didn’t say I _wouldn’t_ go,” Jimmy said, pressing his cheek to Thomas’s shoulder. Thomas could feel him smile. “Only I can’t believe how soppy you are.”

Thomas looked down. Jimmy was among the few people living or dead who had ever seen so much of his heart.

“Well, you’d better not let on,” Thomas teased. “You’ll have to get used to keeping my secrets.”

“ _Our_ secrets,” Jimmy added.

Thomas sighed with relief, then pulled Jimmy even closer. He couldn’t help himself. He was still tingling.

“It’ll all be all right,” he said. “Just wait and see.”

His mind was racing with the hopes and dreams he’d tried so hard to suppress – a whole life, maybe, in which he wouldn’t have to be alone. Jimmy put his arms around Thomas’s neck and nuzzled against Thomas’s shoulder.

“I hope you’re right,” he whispered into Thomas’s shirt.

Thomas kissed the curls of his hair.

“I will be,” he murmured. “Jimmy, you don’t know how happy you’ve made me.”

“Happier than your ghost would have made you?” Jimmy asked.

And Thomas blinked. He felt that band of tightness come around his heart again, and swallowed to collect himself. The thought of Edward was still very raw. No doubt Jimmy had meant well; no doubt he was only a little jealous and insecure himself – but Thomas must have tensed anyway.

“I’m sorry,” Jimmy said, seeing Thomas’s discomfort. “Sorry, that was a stupid thing to ask…”

“Never mind,” Thomas replied. He tried to tell himself that Edward _had_ given his blessing. “It’ll all be fine.”

*

The next days were almost blissful. Thomas still had little use for most of the staff, who regarded him as they normally did, but Jimmy was wonderful. They spent every night together. Jimmy grew a little bolder, and Thomas felt more alive and more satisfied than he’d been in years.

People noticed, too. Bates made some nonsense comment about how Thomas was a changed man since his illness, and Thomas even overheard Ivy and Daisy gossiping about how glad he looked to be alive. He took no notice of them. Why would he, when he had Jimmy sneaking into his bed every evening? Besides, Ivy and Daisy were right about one thing. He _was_ glad to be alive – even glad to be back here.

“You really think we can – show ‘em all?” Jimmy asked one night as they shared a cigarette in Thomas’s bed. The words sent a thrill up Thomas’s spine, as those little signs of Jimmy’s affection and growing courage always did. He grinned in the dimness, then propped himself up on his elbow to ash his cigarette in the tray on his bedside table before replying.

“That’s the spirit,” he said. He _knew_ he’d been right about Jimmy, and knew – well, had hoped – that Jimmy had spirit too, and would come round someday.

Jimmy shifted on the too-small cot and put his hand on Thomas’s waist. Thomas shuddered involuntarily at the touch.

“You know what you are?” Jimmy teased as he laid his cheek on Thomas’s shoulder. Thomas turned back to kiss the top of Jimmy’s head. His mussed curls were soft beneath Thomas’s lips.

“What?” Thomas murmured. “What am I?”

“Romantic,” Jimmy replied. “And soppy and foolhardy – people wouldn’t think it to see you, but there you are. And you’re wonderful for putting up with me.”

Jimmy pressed his lips to Thomas’s cheek. Thomas lowered himself back onto the bed and kissed Jimmy full on the mouth. Sometimes he could still hardly believe his good fortune.

“I’ll do more than put up with you, you know,” Thomas said. He put his arm around Jimmy’s shoulder, ignoring the crick in his neck from the awkward position, and hesitated for a second. “Can you sleep here this time? I’ll wake you early enough to sneak back in the morning…”

He felt Jimmy’s muscles tense beneath his hands.

“Won’t Alfred notice?” Jimmy asked. Thomas couldn’t see the look on his face, but the slight waver in his voice worried him.

“You said he wouldn’t even if you wrote in ink on his forehead while he slept,” Thomas countered. It was hard to sound sure of himself when the mere memory of last year’s nightmare could still bring the sweat to his brow. “And he went up to bed earlier than we did. He must be asleep.”

“I suppose I could say we were up late playing cards,” Jimmy said, thoughtfully.

Thomas let out his breath.

“Exactly,” he said. “And we _did_ play cards.”

“And then we went on to do other things,” Jimmy added.

Thomas sat up, careful not to nudge Jimmy off the bed, and reached for another cigarette. Beside him Jimmy made a sound that was like a choked sob – Thomas’s heart leapt into his throat – before putting his hand to his mouth and starting to giggle like a schoolboy.

“Sorry,” Jimmy whispered between giggles. Thomas bit his lip to stifle a laugh of his own.

“’S all right,” he said.

Jimmy was quiet for a second. Then he laughed again, unable to contain himself.

“ _Shh_ ,” Thomas said, though he could not help smiling. “Nothing’s _that_ funny…”

Jimmy shook his head. His jaw collided with Thomas’s shoulder as he did so.

“Ow – And it is funny. I dunno why but it _is_ – the cards thing, and all…”

Thomas shook his head and kissed him again.

“Well, get some sleep, love. We’ll need to be up early in the morning.”

“We will,” Jimmy said, before kissing Thomas again.

*

But the thought of Edward still cast a shadow over that week. Sometimes Thomas would kiss Jimmy, or make some wry double entendre of a joke across the table, only to think of the love he’d had to leave behind once again. Then the smile would ebb from his face. Sometimes he would even feel the lump start to form in his throat. Jimmy was smart enough to realize what was going on with him. Thomas tried not to let it show, but Jimmy would screw up his face and stare at him in concern. If they were alone, he might squeeze Thomas’s hand to comfort him, or to hold onto Thomas for himself. Thomas wasn’t sure.

He suspected that the memory of Edward might cast a shadow over his heart for some time to come.

Friday morning arrived sooner than he realized. Thomas, who had done nothing all week but rest and make love to Jimmy, bundled himself up early to go to the hospital. His hands shook as he dressed. Going down the stairs seemed a great effort; he found himself struggling to breathe through that terrible tightness in his chest and throat.

Jimmy was wrong about him. Thomas wasn’t brave at all. Brave was for someone like Edward, who could be self-sacrificing if he had to. Thomas – Well. Thomas was cut from a different cloth. His saving Jimmy at the fair had been pure instinct, yet here he was, trembling and hardly able to breathe, because he knew he would have to say goodbye to Edward.

 _It’s what he said he wants_ , Thomas thought, hesitating before putting his hand on the cold knob of the servants’ door. _It’s what he wants and still, look at me._ Then again, this had never been a decision to take lightly. He supposed he shouldn’t be too hard on himself.

He gritted his teeth, opened the door and stepped out into the chill winter morning.

*

The hospital was quiet. Not nightmare-quiet, but quiet enough. At least Thomas and Edward would have some privacy if – _when_ – they had to say goodbye. _If he’s still here_ , Thomas thought.

Clarkson’s examination was brief, which was just as well. Thomas smiled to himself. The old doctor seemed agitated – perhaps he’d noticed the missing drugs, which was amusing to think about. Or perhaps he still hadn’t. That was even more amusing, in its way.

“You’re doing remarkably well,” Clarkson said, in a clipped tone.

Thomas wanted to roll his eyes. He could have told the doctor that.

“Now, Barrow, I’m afraid I’ve had word of something rather urgent just as you arrived…”

Well, that would explain his hurry. It was all fine by Thomas. After all, he hadn’t exactly come to see Clarkson.

“Nurse Carter will see you on your way, if you don’t mind.”

This was Thomas’s chance. He took a deep breath.

“Actually, I think I lost my watch when I was here. You haven’t seen one, have you, Doctor?”

Clarkson sighed, all impatience. It was what Thomas wanted: it meant he was more likely to hurry away, leaving Thomas alone, as soon as he could.

“I’d scarcely have time to notice. But you may look around, if you like. I daresay you remember the place.”

“Thank you, Doctor Clarkson. It were my father’s, and it means a good deal to me.”

Thomas smiled at the doctor as he turned to leave. Then he walked back to the bed he’d spent so long in while he was ill and made as if to inspect the area.

He stood there play-acting until Clarkson was gone from the ward. Then Thomas’s pulse quickened. He hadn’t come to find anything as trivial as a watch.

“Edward?” he called.

He tensed, afraid that the ghost might already have disappeared for good. He breathed in quick, shallow breaths. He’d counted on Edward still haunting the hospital – waited all week for this, really, for _closure_. If he couldn’t at least say goodbye, just one more time…

“Edward, I just…”

At last he felt an answering chill in the air. Edward appeared out of nowhere. He stood by the window set into the opposite wall, leaning on his stick and looking whiter and less real than Thomas had ever seen him. Thomas’s chest constricted.

But Edward smiled at him.

“I trust that you’re well?” he asked simply.

Thomas shrugged. He took a step closer to the other man, welcoming the draught on his skin.

“I am,” he replied. “Doctor Clarkson said I’m – that I’m good to go really…”

“I’m glad,” Edward said. “And are you happy? Are things going well between you and… that boy?”

He hesitated. Thomas wondered if it was due to sadness, though Edward sounded quite composed, or if he had begun to forget things, as he said the dead would.

“I’m all right,” Thomas said. “I think _we’ll_ be all right. I just wish you weren’t…”

Edward shook his head.

“Don’t worry for me,” he said. “I’ll go back happy if I know you are. I promise.”

And Thomas relaxed. He knew it was foolish – he knew Edward had already been over this a dozen times – but somehow, he needed to hear it again now.

“I miss you something terrible,” he added. It was true enough.

Edward shook his head. The sun was coming out from behind a cloud, just outside the hospital window, and its pale winter rays made Edward’s translucent skin glow golden. It was impossible for Thomas to read his expression.

“I’ll miss _you_ ,” Edward said. “But I suppose we’ll see each other again someday.”

“Good,” Thomas said. He drew closer, hoping to touch Edward as best he could, but the ghost actually shuddered, like a candle that was about to go out. Yet the smile never left Edward’s face. God, Thomas hoped he _was_ all right…

“Goodbye for now?” Edward asked.

Thomas swallowed hard.

“For now,” Thomas said. “I – I wish you well, you know.”

“And I feel the same,” Edward replied. “Take care. And take care of – of Jimmy, you know. Be happy together.”

He said that last bit faintly, then shuddered again and melted into thin air. The last Thomas saw of him was the brave, wry smile that Thomas had loved so well.

The chill in the air disappeared, and Thomas’s stomach twisted once more because he knew he was alone in that empty ward.

It was so still he thought he might as well be alone in the world.

But he wasn’t. Thomas reminded himself that he wasn’t alone anymore. He would go back to Downton and smile for Jimmy, even if a part of him had disappeared right here in the hospital when Edward did.

Still, he’d never had it easy in life. And Jimmy – Jimmy was his future, wasn’t he? At least the foreseeable future, and that should be enough for Thomas for now.

He was a little slow in leaving the hospital – not from fatigue or anything, but from reluctance. Still, he knew he had something to go home to, for the first time in a long, long time. That was something.

*

He lived for over half a century after that. He smoked the whole time, survived another world war, and saw things just starting to change for men like him.

And, amazingly, he had Jimmy with him much of that time, too, even as he grew into the scrappy old man Edward had predicted. They were happy.  It wasn’t a bad life, over all. In many ways it was better – far better – than Thomas had expected it would be.

But sometimes, when he was unhappy or ill or alone, he would feel a welcome chill in the air and hear the click of a walking stick behind him when there was no one around. Thomas knew better than to be afraid. He’d smile a little and look about him.

Sometimes, if he were really lucky, he’d see the ghostly white face of an officer who died by his own hand in 1917, at just twenty four years old. They might even touch each other for a moment, wistfully. Then Edward would fade away, leaving only a cold breeze and a glimpse of his wry, sad smile, like a tragic Cheshire cat.


	9. The Going Down of the Sun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please see the same note in Chapter Eight, above - I am finally posting the closing chapters of this story; the previous chapter features a Thomas/Jimmy ending, while this chapter has a Thomas/Edward ending that grows out of the other option but diverges. NEITHER ending is meant to be more authoritative than the other, regardless of the order they appear in; both endings are an integral part of the story and form the original resolution to the love triangle that I conceived of back in May. Both titles are taken from Laurence Binyon’s poem For the Fallen. Finally, many, many thanks to Charlie aka ALittleWhos-This for all her help, support, beta-reading, plotting and general encouragement – and thanks to all my readers for sticking with me and encouraging me as well!

Jimmy smiled like a fool when Thomas returned to Downton. The look on his face made Thomas’s heart leap, until Thomas remembered Edward, and remembered that at least half of his heart remained with the ghost in the hospital.

Everyone congratulated Thomas on his recovery. They were very pleased to have him back, or so they said. More likely, they were all very false, in a way that set Thomas’s teeth on edge. Bates gave him a self-righteous smirk and remarked that the house hadn’t been the same without him. Thomas smiled tightly and said nothing more. Even his Lordship welcomed Thomas back when they passed for a moment in the library. It was all so foolish, so grating and empty, that Thomas rather wished he hadn’t come back at all. At least Edward was sincere in his affection.

But Jimmy – Jimmy, too, seemed sincere. And Thomas couldn’t abandon him, could he? He’d wanted Jimmy for so long. Even Edward had said he should stay with the living…

He watched Jimmy’s face all through dinner, barely able to believe what Jimmy had told him the other day. He ate little. Mrs. Patmore’s cooking was far better than what he’d had in the hospital, yet Thomas was too preoccupied to enjoy it. He stared at Jimmy as much as he dared and wondered if the younger man’s confession had been real, or just a dream.

 _It_ was _real_ , Thomas told himself. Jimmy blushed, and his eyes sparkled, when he and Thomas looked at one another. That had to confirm it, didn’t it? Thomas smiled at him, reassured.

“Are you all right?” Ivy asked Jimmy one time, as she was bringing in the bread. She batted her lashes in a clumsy flirting look that made Thomas want to laugh at her. He covered his face with his napkin instead.

But Jimmy started and went pale. Thomas tensed, a cold knot settling into the pit of his stomach.

“It’s hot in here,” Jimmy said, petulantly, recovering. He didn’t _sound_ too rattled.

“That’s all,” he added. “Can’t anyone else feel it?”

Thomas relaxed, just a little.

“Jimmy’s right,” he said. “’Course, it’s always warm here – from being so near the kitchen.”

The danger passed, for now. Ivy mumbled something about it being far warmer _in_ the kitchen, and Anna launched into a dull story of Lady Mary ruining one of her frocks by playing too near the fire as a young girl. Soon Jimmy was back to grinning across the table at Thomas.

They stayed together late into the evening for cards. Thomas couldn’t tear his eyes from Jimmy’s face. Jimmy _looked_ contented, cheerful, as he had most of the night, but he said little and played poorly. Thomas was just as bad. He fidgeted in his chair, wishing Jimmy would say something, and remembering his and Edward’s easy, quiet companionship. He rather longed for it, if he were honest with himself.

“It’s, um, nice to be back,” Thomas said – though he had never been lonely or bored in the hospital, either.

“It’s good to have you,” Jimmy replied. His cheeks reddened. This time, they weren’t close enough to the kitchen to account for it. Thomas wondered once again it he’d understood Jimmy properly, the other day. He bit his lip. If he’d left Edward for nothing…

“Do you want to talk upstairs?” Jimmy asked.

 _At last_ , Thomas thought. He let out a breath he hadn’t even realized he was holding.

“Yeah,” he said, his pulse quickening. “I’d like that.” But he wasn’t foolhardy enough to forget himself. “I’ll go up first, if you like, so no one’ll think anything of it.”

Jimmy nodded.

“Right,” he said. “We can talk, like.”

 _Like that time after the fair_ , Thomas thought, recalling his rare act of gallantry. He tried to smile, but didn’t think he got very far.

“Be along soon,” he pleaded. He rose and mounted the stairs, glancing backward at Jimmy several times.

There was nothing wrong with going up and to bed, yet Thomas moved as silently as he could through the dim corridor. When he reached his own room, he didn’t dare undress. All he could do was sit down in the armchair by the bed to wait. He remembered Edward’s patience throughout his illness, the way he had sat by him, and, for the umpteenth time, almost wished he were still in the hospital.

The door creaked open minutes later. Thomas stiffened and looked up to meet Jimmy’s eyes. They were wide in the dark bedroom. Jimmy gave a shaky smile, shrugged, then shut the door behind him.

“So,” he said. He swallowed.

Thomas’s hands trembled.

“Do you want to – come closer?” he whispered.

Jimmy nodded. He crossed the floor to stand in front of Thomas, then stopped in his tracks.

Thomas frowned.

“I, um…” He didn’t know what to say.

Jimmy found his voice first.

“I couldn’t stand being without you,” he said. “And I couldn’t – you know I saw him, Edward Courtenay, I mean. I couldn’t stand the thought of you having been with anyone else. I’m sorry, I just – I couldn’t.”

Thomas gave a half-laugh and shook his head. Of course jealousy would be quite the motivation for Jimmy. But then, Thomas could be petty like that himself. He remembered inviting _Daisy_ of all people to a village fair one evening just to take her away from William. He and Jimmy were alike, there was no doubt about it.

(He thought of Edward and his selflessness. Edward was, or had been, everything they said a gentleman should be – honourable and genteel, when hardly anyone ever was. He’d been younger than Thomas when he died and obviously hadn’t aged after that, but Thomas couldn’t imagine him being that selfish for anything, even as a young man. Somehow Thomas admired that…)

A lump came into Thomas’s throat. He blinked, surprised at how readily his thoughts drifted to Edward. Perhaps it shouldn’t have surprised him.

“Thanks,” Thomas murmured. He swallowed hard.

Jimmy put a tentative hand on Thomas’s arm.

“I never thought I’d be like this,” Jimmy went on.

Thomas raised his eyebrow.

“What – this soppy?” he teased.

Jimmy looked nervously around. “I meant, not a proper or normal man – a queer, or -”

Thomas must have flinched before he could help himself, because Jimmy flushed red and stammered an apology.

“Sorry, I don’t even know what to say or what to call anything anymore.”

Thomas sighed. He would have liked to be past all this. After all, he’d given up someone who _did_ love him and who was unafraid for Jimmy and his snail’s pace toward – well – _anything_.

“It’s all right,” Thomas said, forcing himself to sound gentle.

Jimmy put his free hand to his face for a moment, then lowered it and tried to smile at Thomas. “I just never thought I could be like this. I were so upset with you that time…”

His voice trailed off. Thomas held his breath, expecting Jimmy to go on. But Jimmy only bit his lip and shrugged again. Thomas supposed he had already made his confession back at the hospital. _You were right. I want to_ be _with you_.

“What should we do?” Jimmy asked, much as he had before.

Thomas took a cigarette from his pocket. He lit it and stared at it before replying.

“We, um,” he fumbled his words and inhaled. His fingers trembled; he supposed he was nervous – as if every word really mattered, because he still had to convince Jimmy somehow. “We have the advantage of living in the same house, so we can see each other a lot, at least. You said you wanted that. And, well, we could – we could try kissing, if you like.”

“I would,” Jimmy broke in. He gestured toward the bed. “Can we sit down? Together.”

“Of course,” Thomas said. He got up from his chair and sat down instead on the cot, leaning against the frame and leaving a respectful distance for Jimmy. Jimmy dropped down beside him, but did not draw closer just yet. Thomas suppressed a flicker of hurt.

It was an odd sort of moment. They sat much too far apart to kiss, and said nothing. Thomas could hear himself breathing in the stillness and wondered if his lungs were all right after all.

“I don’t –” Thomas began. He licked his dry lips, then reached for Jimmy’s shoulder, his hand still shaking. He’d learned his lesson well. “I don’t want to ask for anything you’re not ready to give…”

“I’m all right,” Jimmy said. “Really, I am.”

And he shuffled closer, tilted his face upward, and kissed Thomas.

Thomas froze. It wasn’t the most passionate kiss he’d ever had – shy and close-lipped as it was – but it was warm, and it was _Jimmy_. His soft lips tasted sweet against Thomas’s mouth. By the time Jimmy pulled back Thomas was already grinning like an idiot.

“Was that good?” Jimmy asked, flushed face still tantalizingly close to Thomas’s. Thomas nodded.

“You were perfect,” Thomas replied, though he couldn’t help remembering Edward’s cold, ghostly form and mouth.

“Well, I weren’t perfect,” Jimmy said in a low voice.

Thomas didn’t know if he meant the kiss or their chequered history. He wondered if he should consider the words an apology (clumsy as they were), tried to settle for that, and cupped Jimmy’s chin in his gloved hand.

To his dismay Jimmy stiffened, slightly, before relaxing into the touch. But he made no further move. Thomas furrowed his brow. God, every hesitation on Jimmy’s part made Thomas’s pulse quicken.

“We can try again,” Thomas said, “or not.”

Thomas looked down then. He hoped he hadn’t sounded too annoyed or too half-hearted when he said those last words, yet Jimmy’s coyness, and his unfortunate remark earlier, grated on Thomas. Perhaps it was too much to expect of Jimmy. After all, Thomas reminded himself that Jimmy had made a momentous discovery about his own nature. _It can’t be easy to admit that – in this world._ Still, Thomas wasn’t sure how much consolation the thought was, after all his sad lonely months of waiting for Jimmy.

“Course,” Jimmy said at last.

They kissed again. Thomas put his hand on Jimmy’s arm, and resisted the urge to pull him closer immediately. The blood was rushing to Thomas’s groin – it had been such a long time and poor, dear Edward hadn’t been able to carry through with the thing in the hospital…

Jimmy drew closer of his own volition. The second kiss lasted longer, and Jimmy opened his mouth a little and let Thomas slip his tongue between his lips. He could feel Jimmy’s heart pounding beneath his own chest.

Then Jimmy pulled away again. Thomas made a little choked sound as the warmth of Jimmy’s lips disappeared.

“I just don’t know,” Jimmy murmured.

Thomas swallowed hard. He wanted to do more than just _talk_ , damn it, but he forced himself to listen, told himself once again that that was a lot to expect.

“Don’t know what?” Thomas asked.

Jimmy bit his lip.

“You can ask me anything, and I promise I won’t – we won’t try anything you’re not comfortable with,” Thomas added.

“I just don’t know what to do,” Jimmy repeated. “I don’t know what to do to not be caught and I don’t – I don’t even know what to do _physically._ ”

The smile pulled at Thomas’s face again. This, at least, was good news. It had to be, if Jimmy wanted to go to Thomas for advice and if he himself wanted to broach the prospect of a physical relationship.

“Sh,” Thomas whispered. “You know I’d look after you. And if you want to be physical – well – we can start small.”

Jimmy gave a nervous little laugh.

“Well, I mean, I’m not stupid; I’ve got an idea, and I’ve gone to bed with someone before–”

Thomas kissed him once again.

“A girl, I take it?” he asked. Jimmy nodded.

“No matter,” Thomas said, shrugging, and kissing Jimmy’s forehead, awkwardly. “We’ll explore together, all right?”

*

They did explore, as it were. Thomas fell asleep more sated than he had been in years, though they hadn’t even done very much. Still, the feeling of Jimmy’s warm body curled against his side made Thomas smile so hard his jaw hurt.

But his dreams were cold and confused. He saw the hospital again, only it was emptier than it had ever been – Clarkson and the nurses were nowhere to be found. It was grey, too, and misty and damp. Thomas was looking for Edward. His errand seemed urgent, as if the hospital were under attack or would soon disappear altogether, yet he could not bring his legs to move fast enough.

At last Thomas turned a corner. He thought he saw Edward standing before him, and called out his name. Edward made no reply. Thomas hurried towards him – reached him – and saw that the other man’s face was nothing more than a reflection in the glass of a cabinet. He _knew_ that that was the cabinet from which he had stolen the morphine, calling to him…

Thomas woke up with a start. He wasn’t frightened, really, but there was a knot in the pit of his stomach. He’d been so glad to see Edward _at all_ , even in a muddled, unhappy dream. And of course Jimmy had snuck back to his own room – the logical, safe thing to do – but Thomas wished he hadn’t. The cot seemed strangely empty or at least cold without him. Thomas shut his eyes, remembering once again the hours he’d spent with Edward in hospital and the drugs he had taken back with him, just in case.

But he had chosen life – hadn’t he? Thomas sighed before opening his eyes again. He groped first for the lamp, then for his lighter and lit a cigarette with shaking hands. He wouldn’t mind if the cigarettes did harm his lungs, as Clarkson had fretted. He might have to go down to the hospital sooner – and Thomas would hardly mind that.

*

The morning started well enough. Jimmy beamed at Thomas across the table at breakfast, much as he had the night before, but his eyes were brighter and more mischievous. Thomas flashed him what he hoped was a private smile.

This was just the sort of romance he’d imagined for them: playful, teasing, and hidden in plain sight while they lived and worked in the same house. Really, it was hard not to reach for Jimmy’s hand under the table. Thomas ached to touch him. It might have done him and his nerves some good. But it was out of the question. At least, it was out of the question for now, and Thomas made sure not to look at Jimmy too long, and tried to eat his toast, though he had little appetite.

He had few chances to see Jimmy during the day. Thomas was expected to convalesce up in his room, which meant that Jimmy as first footman had taken on a number of extra duties. The thought amused Thomas – poor Jimmy stuck working more closely than ever with Carson. Thomas looked forward to getting back on his feet and relieving Jimmy of work he knew the young man would begrudge. He wondered if things would go smoothly enough for him to tease Jimmy about it in due course.

But Jimmy’s absence gave Thomas lots of time to brood, too. He could only read the paper so many times before tossing it away in disgust.

Naturally, his mind turned to Edward. He wondered if the ghost still lingered in the hospital. Perhaps he’d already returned to that miserable grey afterlife. Thomas imagined Edward all alone there, and felt his stomach twist with guilt. For all Edward had said he wanted Thomas to live and to leave him, Thomas couldn’t shake his unease. He hated the fact that he’d left Edward alone. He _loved_ Jimmy, and grew warm with happiness whenever they shared a smile, and yet, sitting in his room alone after breakfast, Thomas felt every bit as unsettled as he had been during his last days in hospital.

Jimmy came to see him during his breaks, of course. That cheered Thomas. But was it his imagination, or was Jimmy fidgeting and keeping his distance when he went into Thomas’s room during his morning rest period? Thomas’s pulse grew unsteady when he saw Jimmy hesitating by the door. Could Jimmy be regretting last night already? Had Thomas assumed too much in thinking they could work?

“You look well,” Jimmy said. He turned to glance over his shoulder, furrowing his brow as if he were making some grave decision. Thomas’s heart sank, as it always did when he expected bad news. But Jimmy turned and finally shut the door behind him. Thomas let relief wash over him. He should relax, shouldn’t he? After all, he supposed it was a good sign if Jimmy was still willing to be alone with him behind a closed door. _He knows anyone might see it and he’s not too afraid – and he can’t think I pushed him into it, can he?_ At least, it was a better sign than nothing.

“I _am_ well,” Thomas replied in a low voice, “only it’s awfully dull up here.”

Jimmy leaned against the door and smiled a little.

“At least you get a rest. I don’t know how you stand so much of Carson.”

Thomas forced a laugh. “I’m used to him. Used to making myself indispensable.”

Then he raised his eyebrows and looked at Jimmy, searching the younger man’s face.

“I’ll be happy to – give you a better time tonight,” he said. Again his pulse grew unsteady

Jimmy frowned, and Thomas went cold with sudden dread that he’d misunderstood his signals.

“If you want, I mean, if you’re still interested–”

Jimmy nodded, but his eyes seemed distant. Perhaps Thomas was overthinking things. He told himself that he was, and strove to quiet his stupid nerves.

“Sure,” Jimmy muttered. “I’ll see you later, all right?”

*

They spent that night together, too, though Jimmy was as hesitant and as peevish as he had been the night before. His manner brought all of Thomas’s dread back to him, all his fears that Jimmy wouldn’t really care for him enough to take the risk. But Thomas treated him as gently as he could, though he was burning up with desire, and strained to suppress his annoyance every time Jimmy hesitated.

“We won’t do anything you don’t want,” Thomas reassured him “And if you like, you can go back to your own room right now. We could just be mates again and no more if that’s what you want.”

A lump came into his throat as he said that. He hoped Jimmy wouldn’t hear the strain in his voice – but he really _would_ hate to have left Edward for so little.

Jimmy shook his head.

“I _don’t_ want that,” Jimmy said. It was almost a sob; Thomas frowned in concern. He wished he could help. For a moment Jimmy was once again the only thought in his mind, and the love and care that had led him to that one act of gallantry under a bridge in Thirsk washed over him.

“And anyway,” Jimmy went on, “I’d be making it worse going back and forth between two rooms, wouldn’t I? Some of the men might still be awake.”

Thomas reached for his hand. Jimmy took it slowly – too slowly. Thomas bit his lip and clenched his free hand. He thought of Edward’s words – _He’s young. He might still be afraid of himself_ – yet Thomas himself had always known what and who he was, accepted it without fear, and done only the bare minimum to hide it.

“I just don’t see how we’re supposed to make it work,” Jimmy added.

Thomas gripped his hand, unsure of what he could or should say.

“It’s possible,” he began. “It wouldn’t be easy, but I’ve known other men like us – well – like me who made it work – real couples, I mean, for a real long time. If you’d ever want that.”

The thought alone – the _dream_ of it – was almost enough to make Thomas forget his nerves and forget Edward and the drugs in his case altogether. But Jimmy only gave a nervous laugh.

“I would–” he began. Thomas tensed. “Well. I were so scared when you were ill, that you wouldn’t be in my life anymore, and I hated that. But…” Jimmy hesitated again. “I’ve always been scared. It’s like that time at the fair – you were brave, and I just ran off. So now that you’re here I just – I don’t know.”

Thomas’s chest tightened, but he squeezed Jimmy’s hand just the same, unsatisfied, yet still wishing that he could help.

“I’m not that brave,” he said. “But I _love_ you.”

He hoped Jimmy might say something similar. Really, he’d waited so long to hear those words.

Instead Jimmy said nothing, merely nodded and leaned against Thomas. Thomas kissed the curls of his hair. He wondered how there could be such a gulf starting between them so soon.

*

Jimmy was happy, at first. At least he was as happy as he could be going around with his chest so tight he could hardly breathe half the time, and thinking always that he should be looking over his shoulder lest anyone see him with Thomas.

Thomas was good to him. He was almost too good, better than most people had ever been to Jimmy. And when they went to bed together – well. Jimmy had enjoyed himself far more in the past few days than he had in any of his earlier (and, for that matter, none-too-frequent) experiences.

But he didn’t see how they could keep it a secret for long. Thomas was clever; Jimmy had to grant him that. Even so – even when Thomas tried to reassure him that people thought they were mates and took no notice of them – it was hard to be hopeful about the future. Half the time Jimmy was _sure_ someone would come along and find out and spoil everything.

He didn’t dare spend the night with Thomas. Thomas reminded Jimmy that Alfred was a sound sleeper, as Jimmy had always said – but Jimmy couldn’t think of trying it. He remembered his fear that night Thomas had tried to kiss him, over a year ago. He’d thought his heart would stop. If everyone knew his secret, knew it hadn’t been entirely unwanted (though he’d have thought Thomas would know better than to barge in like that while he slept in a bloody shared room), Jimmy didn’t think he could survive it. It hardly mattered that O’Brien was gone. Alfred could be a gossipy little prat himself. Jimmy trusted him to be always around, always asking the wrong questions, and he _was_. He’d noticed how tired Jimmy looked in the mornings now, and had frowned very deeply indeed when Jimmy said he’d done nothing but play cards with Mr. Barrow, as a sort of welcome home.

Sometimes Jimmy hated himself for hesitating like this. Thomas had so much to give him; he wanted to believe it could all be real. He tried to tell himself that it could be. Sometimes, when he was lying pressed against Thomas on the tiny cot, he imagined that they could stay together like that always. Yet his fears were never far from his mind, making him turn away from Thomas in bed or sulk at him before giving in and undressing, and always, always driving him back to his own room before too long, as silently as he could sneak in.

Thomas was patient with him, but even Thomas had his limits. Jimmy wasn’t stupid. He could see the way Thomas pursed his lips or made as if to say something, then stopped himself, when Jimmy was peevish or quiet. But for heaven’s sake, why didn’t Thomas _understand_ him? Not everyone could be as brave or as foolhardy as he was.

He supposed, in hindsight, that things came to a head Tuesday night. He’d gone looking for Thomas only to find the other man had dozed off in his room. It wasn’t surprising. He’d been very ill – Jimmy could not forget that, though Thomas’s absence from the house already seemed like a long time ago – and he and Jimmy had shared a few late nights. So Jimmy was understanding, and figured he’d make Thomas’s excuses for him if he didn’t come down to tea.

Ivy met Jimmy on the stairs. She smiled at him in that silly flirting way that Jimmy tried not to mind, because she might be useful now more than ever, but that really made his insides go all cold and strange. He didn’t know if he felt guilty leading her on, or if he just hated the reminder that he was keeping such a horrible secret.

“Where’ve you been?”  Ivy asked. “Have you gone up to see Mr. Barrow again?”

Jimmy grimaced. His heart sped up; he could only hope Ivy would be too thick to notice. _But then, even that clot Alfred’s catching on or soon will be. They’ll_ all _be on to us…_

“So what if I was?” he blurted. “It’s none of your business…”

Ivy’s eyes widened at his words. She backed up a bit, and stepped down one stair. _Fuck_ , Jimmy thought. He’d overcompensated, made things worse with his rudeness.

“ ‘Course it’s not,” Ivy said. “Only it’s really – Well, I was going to say it’s nice of you to be such a kind friend.”

Jimmy’s whole body began to sweat. He looked away from Ivy, who was suddenly the most gossipy, malicious little witch he had ever seen. _Just stop it_ , he thought. _Just – shut_ up.

She was too thick to notice _that_ , all right.

“We were all saying in the kitchen how close you and Mr. Barrow are – more than ever since he got back.”

And that made the staircase wobble before Jimmy’s eyes. He thought he would faint on the spot.

“I really don’t see why you should be talking about it,” he said. His voice sounded very distant in his ears, as if someone else were speaking instead. “I have to go.”

He stumbled down the stairs, away from Ivy. It dawned on him that he’d have been better off going to his room rather than down to any other part of the house – he wouldn’t get a moment alone anywhere else – but he couldn’t shift course now, with Ivy still standing there and calling his name, hurt.

So he barreled down the stairs and through the servants’ quarters. Mercifully, the boot room was empty. Jimmy leaned back against the wall. He had hoped he might feel better if he could just sit somewhere quiet to collect himself, but his skin was as clammy as it had been and his heart continued pounding against his ribs. He slid down the wall into a crouch. The sudden cramping in his thighs hardly registered – hardly felt like his own pain.

 _I can’t do it_ , he thought. _I can’t do it and I can’t forgive Thomas for making me think this about myself. I’ve got to tell him it’s over._

He gulped. For a moment he thought of how lonely he’d been during Thomas’s illness. Could he really go like that for the rest of his life? He supposed he’d have to. It would be better than prison and public shaming, wouldn’t it? Besides, he might not have to be alone always. He might find another man who was like Thomas, but less of a fool – who’d be content to be his friend without pushing for anything that was criminal. He doubted it, but he tried to tell himself that there was some hope left…

 _I’ve got to tell Thomas_ , he thought. But then all his fears came flooding back to him. He couldn’t imagine waking Thomas to tell him this – perhaps he’d let him know gradually, later on – or tonight, if Thomas expected that they would go to bed together again.

Jimmy’s stomach heaved. He hoped he wouldn’t be sick right there in the boot room.

Jimmy stood where he was, shivering against the wall for a long time before he managed to walk back towards the stairs. No doubt Carson would miss him and give him a dressing down for slacking, but he’d say he felt ill. That, at least, was one thing he could be honest about, even if he could never say why.

*

Thomas knew something was wrong when Jimmy wouldn’t even look at him Tuesday night over supper. Thomas had been tired and dozed for much of the afternoon, so he wasn’t sure if Jimmy had been up to see him or not, but something was very much amiss by that evening. He tried to catch Jimmy’s eye across the table. They made eye contact for a moment, once. Then Jimmy went pale and hung his head, hiding his face from Thomas.

Thomas’s stomach sank. It made sense that Jimmy might relapse, yet he had hoped and dreamed that he wouldn’t.

“I’m knackered,” Jimmy said, pleadingly, before the meal was half over. “Mr. Carson, if it’s all right with you, I’d like to turn in early. I – I haven’t been well all day. Can you spare me for one evening?”

Thomas’s pulse quickened. He sat still, however, and kept his face as impassive as he could. Carson glowered at Jimmy from the head of the table.

“I suppose, if you’ve _really_ taken a bad turn,” Carson said.

Thomas could see Jimmy’s white cheeks flush red. He scowled into his plate. It was a mean sort of thing for Carson to say. Thomas had to bite his tongue to keep from intervening.

“I wouldn’t lie about that,” Jimmy managed.

He sounded so plaintive, so lost. It made Thomas long to jump in and help him, though he had a feeling that was the last thing Jimmy wanted tonight.

“I don’t mind helping out tonight,” Thomas volunteered. Jimmy went red. Carson, at least, didn’t seem to notice.

“Very well, if you’re up to it,” Carson said. “James, you may go.”

Jimmy bolted from the room. He looked unbalanced, as if he might careen into a wall or something. Thomas sighed.

*

“Jimmy,” Thomas said later that night, as he knocked on the younger man’s door.

There was no answer. Thomas persisted.

“Jimmy, are you still awake?”

“Yeah,” Jimmy answered at last. “But I can’t see you now. I wish you’d go away.”

Thomas’s insides twisted – though he wasn’t exactly surprised.

“All right,” he said. “Do you – do you think you’ll feel up to talking later?”

A moment of hesitation, then Jimmy’s strained voice replied “ _No._ ” Thomas could just picture Jimmy’s face contorted with shame and anger. He clenched his fist over the doorknob. Thomas didn’t know if this sudden dread had come from Jimmy himself, or if someone had said something untoward that had caused this worry. He wished he knew, so he could better respond to Jimmy’s fears – _if_ Jimmy would let him respond.

Still, he wasn’t wanted now. That much was clear.

“Goodnight,” he said.

Stony silence followed. Thomas dropped his hands to his side, exhausted.

*

They hardly spoke over the next days. Jimmy still visited Thomas up in his room, but his visits became rarer, and he said little and stared down at the floor far more than he looked at Thomas. The sight of him made Thomas so uneasy he almost wished Jimmy wouldn’t bother, if he was going to behave so.

“Are you – all right?” Jimmy asked Thursday morning.

Thomas narrowed his eyes. Jimmy stood fidgeting by the open door. He looked, and sounded, worried, though Thomas didn’t know if he truly cared for Thomas’s health, or if he was only afraid of getting caught with him.

Perhaps that thought was uncharitable.

“My health is much improved,” Thomas began. “I’m more concerned about what’s gotten into _you_ lately _._ ”

It was more direct than Thomas had been all week. But he was to go down to the hospital the next day, and, to be quite honest, he missed Edward and the companionship they’d shared. Thomas could not shake the feeling that he had left a better man for – well – nothing at all.

Jimmy bit his lip. He still refused to look up and at Thomas. Thomas clenched his teeth.

“You should close the door, you know,” he said, coolly. “We need to talk–”

“There’s not much to say,” Jimmy muttered. At least he shuffled a step further into the room and shut the door behind him. _Well, I suppose he doesn’t think I’ll attack him if we’re behind a closed door._

“I think there’s a lot to say,” Thomas tried again.

“Well, I can’t do it,” Jimmy snapped. “I was right last year when I said I couldn’t give you what you want. I don’t know why I led you on, but I can’t do it and you’re just – you’re asking too much of me.”

“It’s no more than you offered,” Thomas countered. Then he took a calming breath. “Has something happened? Did anyone remark anything about us?”

Jimmy nodded. He opened his mouth as if to speak, then put his hand to his face and stood there silently.

Thomas wanted to roll his eyes. Perhaps Jimmy was a coward, worse than Thomas himself had ever been, because at least Thomas had known better than to fear his own nature. Or perhaps Jimmy had been careless, had invited comment of some sort, and would now blame Thomas for his own mess.

 _Be fair_ , Thomas told himself – but it was hard, what with Jimmy acting so petulant and so cold to him.

“I don’t want to go into it,” Jimmy said. “I just can’t be like this. I don’t see how you can, and I can’t go on. I’m _sorry._ ”

That band of tightness came round around Thomas’s heart again. He struggled to breathe, thinking of all the high hopes he’d had for the two of them once.

“So that’s it then?” Thomas asked.

Jimmy flinched. Thomas didn’t mind, this time.

“I want you to be well,” Jimmy said, “and I want us to be mates, but that’s all.”

“I don’t trust you to know what you want,” Thomas snapped. “Why would I?”

At last Jimmy looked up at him, grimacing.

“I won’t change my mind again,” he said.

Thomas worried at his lower lip. He could feel his cheeks flushing as he thought of how patient he’d tried to be – how much he’d been willing to give up for Jimmy. He’d defended Jimmy even when Jimmy tried to make his life a living hell. Granted, Thomas had convinced himself that that was all O’Brien’s doing, yet now, he wasn’t quite so sure. Perhaps he’d blinded himself too much to Jimmy’s faults, or at least his callousness with Thomas’s affection. Perhaps he really had left Edward, the better man, for nothing…

“Do what you like,” Thomas said, after a long moment.

Jimmy’s eyes widened. No doubt he could hear the answering coldness in Thomas’s tone.

“You’ve asked too much of me,” he repeated. He kept his voice very low.

Thomas wondered, briefly, if he should restrain himself. But he had already shown so much restraint, despite everything.

“You were the one who asked _me_ , this time,” Thomas snapped. “You might want to forget that bit, but you were the one who came to _me_ in the hospital and got my hopes up all over again and –”

Jimmy shut his eyes against Thomas’s words. When he opened them again, he looked almost composed, and his face had hardened.

“You’re right about one thing,” he said. His voice was hoarse and sounded almost sad enough to check Thomas’s sudden anger. He had to clear his throat before speaking again. “I _do_ want to forget it, all right? The whole thing. If you can’t be happy just being mates I – I don’t know what to do.”

“You could go,” Thomas said, without thinking. He was too tired, really – too tired for any of this. Jimmy’s shunning him had grated on him for days. “People aren’t toys that you can put away when you don’t feel like playing with them, then pick up again when you do.”

“That’s not how I’ve seen any of this,” Jimmy countered. “Do you think any of this was easy for me?”

“I’m sure you’d like it to be – I’m sure that matters more to you than I do…”

Jimmy’s face reddened. “That’s not what matters. Only I’ve – I can’t do it. I’ve thought it all through, better than you have, maybe, and I can’t…”

Thomas sighed.

“I doubt that very much,” he said. “That you know better than _I_ do.”

Jimmy pursed his lips. He was silent a moment.

“Well,” he said at last, “I don’t need to stand here and be told what a fool I am, do I?”

Thomas supposed he might regret his words later. He _might_ – he’d spent so long chasing after Jimmy – and yet, he didn’t think he _would_ regret anything. He saw now how much better he could do and how stupid he had been.

“No,” he answered, steeling himself for the inevitable end to a foolish dream. “I don’t suppose you do.”  He stood up, pointedly ignoring Jimmy, and reached for his hat and coat.

“Then again, you can stay in the room if you like. I’m going for a walk.”

“I’m truly sorry, Thomas,” Jimmy added.

Thomas turned his face to him. He softened, slightly; he couldn’t help himself, when Jimmy looked so lost.

“Me too,” he said.

“Do you – do you feel up to just going about like that?” Jimmy asked.

But that was too much. Thomas flushed, angry once again. Jimmy could either care for him or not; he was done being twisted around and toyed with.

“I don’t need your company,” he said. He forced himself to keep his voice even. “You go back to your work – I’d rather be alone.”

He pushed past Jimmy and out of the room, refusing to look the younger man in the eye as he left.

*

Jimmy had thought ending things with Thomas would make him feel better – more settled, like. God, was he wrong. He stood in the attic hallway for a long time after Thomas left, with a funny, cold, heavy feeling in his stomach.

That had gone worse than he’d ever imagined it could. The coldness in Thomas’s voice made Jimmy ache. He’d come to count on Thomas’s affection and friendship; he supposed he should have said things differently, in a kinder way or something.

Or, perhaps, he shouldn’t have panicked the way he did. It was only _Ivy_ , after all; she _might_ know nothing. Jimmy might have been a fool to get so worried over what she’d said. Perhaps he’d try to make amends when Thomas returned. He could beg Thomas’s forgiveness when Thomas came back from his walk, and promise to try again, without letting people’s gossipy words or strange looks get to him.

Jimmy leaned against the wall and worried at his bottom lip. No: after today he doubted that he could muster that kind of courage, and the last thing he needed was to lie to Thomas, to make more promises he would never be able to keep.

 _I just can’t have him be angry,_ Jimmy thought. _I’ve got to patch things up somehow, when he gets back. I_ love _him, even if we can’t act on it the way he wants._

But Thomas never did return from his walk. Eventually Jimmy took a few deep breaths, calmed himself, and went downstairs, hoping that getting back to work might distract him. It didn’t. Jimmy tried to make small talk with Alfred as they polished the silver, but everything Alfred said reminded him of talks he and Thomas had shared, and of Thomas’s much cleverer views on things. Jimmy turned their quarrel over and over in his mind with every movement, every stroke of the polishing cloth on the silverware. He was shaking and dropping things within half an hour.

“You all right?” Alfred asked, frowning.

Jimmy nodded. Of course he was far from all right. He _knew_ Thomas had not merely gone out for air. He must have gone down to the hospital again to visit with Edward Courtenay or worse.

Within one hour Jimmy could barely squeak out a reply to Alfred’s stupid questions. Every nerve in his body ached to run down to the hospital to find Thomas – he _must_ have gone there, and that was a terrible sign. Jimmy knew it was.

He also knew it was his fault…

Carson, the old bastard, gathered him and Alfred early to review some absurd details of the luncheon. Jimmy thought he might break down in the middle of the butler’s pantry. _There’s no one but Mrs. Crawley coming_ , he thought, bitterly. _I_ need _to speak to Thomas…_ Yet he could hardly ask Carson’s permission to leave, lest he suspect. God, he could not ask or tell anyone about his fears. He didn’t know how he was to survive, if Thomas didn’t come back and let him make amends.

*

He never did. Jimmy could not stand still, and could barely breathe, but went with Alfred to lay the table, as always. Alfred kept asking him what the matter was. Jimmy shook his head each time, too distracted even to snap at him.

He was arranging spoons and facing the window when he could have sworn his heart stopped. There was no mistaking Doctor Clarkson hurrying up the walk, and Doctor Clarkson had no business being there. Mrs. Crawley was joining the family, and was in fact waiting with Lady Grantham in the drawing room already, but Clarkson had never been invited – not for today.

There was no reason for him to be coming here, unless something was very, very wrong.

Jimmy heard a clatter of metal. He realized he had dropped the spoons he was holding.

“What’s the matter with you?” Alfred asked yet again.

Jimmy’s heart pounded in his chest. He forced himself to look up and over at Alfred. Alfred had his nose crinkled in an expression that was just so foolish it made Jimmy curl his lip in disgust.

“I have to go,” he said. His voice sounded hoarser and weaker than he’d expected it to; he cleared his throat.

“What are you on about?” Alfred said.

Jimmy turned away from him. Doctor Clarkson was already out of sight. _Damn it…_

“I just said I have to go,” Jimmy snapped. “You can finish setting out spoons yourself.”

And Jimmy ran from the room.

It was totally irregular, and he supposed Carson would be furious with him until he saw Doctor Clarkson addressing a small gathering of Carson, Mrs. Hughes and Lord Grantham in hushed tones outside the drawing room door. Mrs. Crawley had emerged from the room, too, and was standing beside Doctor Clarkson, her face creased with concern.

“What is it?” Lady Grantham said as she stepped into the hall to join the others.

Carson stammered, “I’m so sorry, my Lady–”

“What’s the matter?” Jimmy asked, pushing forward. His insides felt like ashes; he just knew something awful had happened and whatever it was, he had to hear it. He didn’t care that he’d be the lowest ranking member of the staff there, and didn’t even care that he would almost certainly break down when he heard the news. He just had to _know_.

“What’s happened?” he asked again.

Lord Grantham turned to stare at him. Worse, Carson’s eyes looked as if they might bulge right out of his head. Jimmy looked down, but thought _sod off_ in Carson’s direction.

“Given the circumstances, I think James _should_ be here,” Mrs. Hughes said, gravely.

Jimmy thought he would be ill right there. _Oh God, Thomas, you can’t have – have died or something, not now…_

Clarkson glanced at Jimmy. His brows were drawn and he looked away again, distracted, almost as soon as his eyes met Jimmy’s. Jimmy noticed that he looked to Mrs. Crawley as if he were asking her for help. She drew closer to him. _Oh, God_ , Jimmy thought. _Oh God oh God oh God…_

“If you don’t mind,” Carson said, nodding to his Lordship, “I can have James stand in the corner. They were – sort of – friends, and so…”

“What’s happened?” Jimmy repeated, voice cracking. He cleared his throat. “Begging your pardon…”

“It’s – Barrow,” Mrs. Crawley said at last, “I’m so sorry, James.”

“He died this afternoon,” Clarkson explained. “Barrow – Mr. Barrow.”

And Jimmy’s heart stopped. It must have; he was sure of it. His knees buckled and he shivered, unsure how he managed to stay upright and silent.

He was dimly aware of people talking around him – His Lordship interjecting something useless like “By Jove!” and asking what happened (as if it hadn’t been asked three times already), and Carson seconding the question…

“It was suicide,” Clarkson said. “It seems he took a lethal dose of morphine. He must have smuggled it out of my supply.”

Jimmy bowed his head. _This is my fault_ , he thought, shuddering.

He felt someone touch his shoulder. It was Mrs. Crawley.

“You should sit down, James,” she said in one of the kindest tones he had heard since he came here. Then she herded him into the armchair where she herself had been sitting earlier. Jimmy collapsed and buried his head in his hand. He supposed he should offer some sort of apology, but couldn’t bring himself to care. He didn’t think he would ever care about anything again.

“Good heavens,” His Lordship said. “Is there no chance it was an accident?”

“He knew what he was doing,” Clarkson said. “He was invaluable to me in that hospital during the war, and in running the convalescent home here. I highly doubt it was an accident – only I can’t fathom why he should have done it…”

“No, you can’t,” Mrs. Crawley said pointedly. “He might have had some personal trouble – something unrelated to his recent illness. You can’t blame yourself.”

But Jimmy _could_ blame himself. He’d been selfish and cowardly, a lousy friend and a worse lover, insomuch as he had dared to try. He’d driven Thomas to it – that very morning, in fact. _He_ ’d been Thomas’s personal trouble. He took a ragged breathe, willing himself not to sob aloud.

“James,” Mrs. Hughes began, as gentle with him as Mrs. Crawley had been, “would you like to go, or…?”

Their kindness made it worse. Tears prickled at Jimmy’s half-covered eyes, but he shook his head. He needed to _know_. He needed to be there, even if it was too late for it to matter.

There was silence for a moment. Then Clarkson broke it, though Jimmy saw him look around the room first, as if he were about to reveal some delicate secret. Jimmy swallowed hard.

“I heard – and forgive me for bringing up something sordid – but I heard a rumour that Barrow was – or _might_ have been – a sexual invert,” Clarkson said.

Oh, God – would they drag Thomas through the mud now, and maybe Jimmy too? It was too horrible. Jimmy realised he was still shaking and unable to stop. He wished he’d taken Mrs. Hughes up on her offer, that he should go – or, better, he wished he could just disappear. He was sure everyone must be staring at him now.

 _Blaming_ me, he thought.

Clarkson went on, “I thought he might have faced some sort of scandal.”

Now Jimmy wanted to run from the room, but could not. He felt boneless. Every part of him must have been drained of life and strength, and he sat in the armchair motionless except for the trembling of his hands in front of his face.

This time Lord Grantham broke the silence. He shook his head and said, pompously, “I would never have thought suicide was in character for him…”

Jimmy could hardly breathe. He felt strangled by the words he was hearing. He squeezed his eyes shut to hold back tears, wishing he had never come in here, where so many others might glimpse his anguish and his secret.

“You should go,” Jimmy heard Carson say to him. His eyes snapped open. Carson was looming over Jimmy’s chair.

“And under the circumstances, you needn’t serve at luncheon today,” Carson added.

Jimmy thought he looked accusing. He couldn’t be sure, with the mist of tears in his eyes, though he knew Carson could not have approved of his relationship with Thomas. Did he suspect anything? Would it even matter now, with Thomas gone? Jimmy bit his lip hard enough to draw blood.

“Thank you,” he said to no one in particular. Then he rose on buckling legs and ran from the room.

He nearly crashed into the wall by the back staircase, and only made it to the landing before he stopped and buried his aching head in his hands once again, as if he could suppress the flood of tears that threatened him. Thomas was dead. What good was anything to him now? Thomas was dead, by his own hand (unbelievable as it was), and Jimmy had driven him to it. He should have been braver, kinder, as Thomas had been with him. But he hadn’t been, and Thomas had chosen death and a dead man instead of the little that Jimmy had to offer. _Oh, Thomas…_

Jimmy wiped his face with his hands and staggered up to his room. He had to stop several times when his crying became uncontrollable. He was surprised the whole house didn’t hear him. No one seemed to, however, or if they did they left him alone – thank heaven for small miracles. Then again, it didn’t matter much if someone suspected now, did it? Jimmy would never try, would never love again. Not after this.

His mind raced. Thomas dead and Jimmy alone again. It would be like when his mum and dad died, only far worse. Who could he talk to about this – about what he’d had with Thomas? There was no one who’d believe that such feelings could be love, could be sane or healthy enough to deserve compassion. He’d have to bear it all alone, wouldn’t he? Because that was how it was for people like him, especially without Thomas …

He reached his room at last, sank to his knees, and sobbed and sobbed.

*

Thomas reached the hospital at noon exactly. He told the nurse who met him that he had lost his watch during his long illness and would need only five minutes to search the ward, no assistance required. She nodded before leaving him alone.

He did not see Edward, even though he whispered his name several times. That was rotten luck; he would have liked the company, considering how badly it had gone with Jimmy and the work he was about to do. But at least he would see Edward soon enough.

He thought he remembered the bed Edward had died in, five years before. It was hard to tell – the hospital had been far more crowded then – but he smiled a little and sat down on the cot he believed was the right one. _If this doesn’t call him back I don’t know what would…_ That done, Thomas took the morphine and the syringe from his jacket pocket. Then he laid the jacket on the cot and rolled up his shirt sleeves, gritting his teeth all the while. It wasn’t a pleasant thought, what he was about to do, despite all his rationalizations.

But he had to get on with it now that his mind was made up. For a second Thomas wondered if he should tie off his arm. He didn’t think so. After all, he would only need the drug once. It couldn’t be that hard to find a single good vein, could it?

He strained to listen for any sound on the ward as he filled the syringe, and ignored the strange weightless feeling in his stomach.

At last he heard Edward’s voice.

“Thomas, is that you?”

Thomas smiled.

“I’m right here,” he said, looking around. He still couldn’t _see_ Edward. _But that’ll be fixed soon…_

“Thomas, I hope you’re not doing anything untoward. You really shouldn’t be here.”

And Thomas actually laughed to hear the concern – to hear the _love_ – in that darling, disembodied voice.

“You’ll thank me later,” he said, amazed at his own joviality. Then he took a deep breath and pierced the blue vein in his wrist with the syringe.

It wasn’t as easy as he’d hoped. He fumbled a bit, scratched himself; he grimaced at the jab of cold metal piercing his arm and the little bruise that started to form already beneath the white skin.

But he righted himself soon enough. The morphine flooded through his veins. He breathed in deep, then laughed a little as the drug took effect. His whole body tingled, and he felt warmth flood through every part of him.

“Thomas?” Edward asked. He sounded very far away.

“Thomas, what are you doing?”

Thomas sank back against the pillows. It took him a moment to recall that Edward had spoken to him.

“I’m going with you,” he murmured. “I’ve made my choice, and I’m just sorry I didn’t make it sooner.”

“God, I told you not to do it,” Edward said. Thomas barely heard him. He felt suddenly very _tired_ , and realized that his hands were trembling. He blinked his eyes open and frowned. How could he be trembling when he was so damn warm?

Yet he was shaking violently.

The sight scared him, despite the euphoria. He called Edward’s name again and stretched out his hands, pleading for the other man to come to him.

Edward obliged. He appeared beside Thomas, sat by him, pulled Thomas’s head into his lap.

“You’re soppy and – romantic and foolhardy,” Edward scolded him. “I told you not to…”

He sounded as agitated as Thomas had ever heard him, Thomas realized. The thought crept through Thomas’s dim brain like molasses and made him smile a little. The smile seemed to demand all his strength.

“Well,” he whispered, between shallow breaths, “you did it first, you know.”

Edward held him and stroked his hair. He tried to say _something_ , but Thomas couldn’t hear him. He was falling asleep – no – he was _dying_. He shut his eyes and thought he saw stars in the blackness before him. He seemed to lie there for a long time, staring at imaginary stars, with his head hot and his thoughts all muffled, as if someone had stuffed warm cotton balls into his brain.

Then the blackness cleared, turning to light instead. Thomas squinted as he used to when the morning sun streamed through his skylight and woke him. His head no longer felt as if it were stuffed with cotton. He thought he might be able to see and understand where he was if he opened his eyes now.

He did. Thomas blinked. He was lying in a green field by a lake with summer sunlight warming his face and sparkling on the blue water. ( _But it was winter. I died in the winter of 1922…_ ) His head was pillowed in Edward’s lap. He could feel the warmth of Edward’s thigh against his cheek and of Edward’s fingers brushing his temples. The touch sent a jolt of joy through Thomas’s body.

“You feel so alive,” he said, sitting up and pulling Edward into an embrace.

Edward shook his head, grinning.

“It’s because you died,” he said. “You shouldn’t have done it for me.”

“Don’t tell me you’re not pleased,” he said. “At least a little. We can be together now.”

Edward looked down. He had that endearing guilty schoolboy look about him. _You darling thing_ , Thomas thought. Then he cupped the other man’s chin in his hands and kissed him. His mouth was hot beneath Thomas’s lips.

When they pulled apart, Thomas stared at Edward for a long time and knew, through some new sense, that they could make love to one another here, that it would work now that they were alike. Thomas’s heart leapt. To think of them touching soul _and_ body, and never having to be parted…

“It’s not so bad,” he said. “Not at all. I told you we’d be all right together. Besides, it’s a nice place. You never said.”

“That’s because it wasn’t like this when I was alone,” Edward replied, wonderingly. “This place is beautiful. I swear I can hear the sound of the sea, or one of the lakes, like in the Lake District.” He grinned. “‘They live untouched by sorrow in the islands of the blessed, along the shore…’”

“What?” Thomas asked.

Edward kissed him again. “Never mind. Just something I remember reading at Oxford.”

The words stirred something in Thomas’s brain. He, too, had something he’d wanted to remember…

“Jimmy,” he said suddenly. Edward gave him a look of infinite sadness, though it seemed impossible to be sad in such a lovely place.

“I think we parted on bad terms,” Thomas said, striving to remember. He imagined himself rummaging through cobwebs on a high shelf in his memory. “I don’t want him to be sad, is all. I want to tell him it’s all right. Can I see him sometime?”

“If we don’t forget,” Edward replied. “You probably broke his heart, you know. I must be so selfish.”

“It’s all _fine_ ,” Thomas said. “He’ll be all right – and I won’t forget to go see him and tell him.”

Edward shrugged. Then he stood up, beckoning Thomas to follow.

Thomas did, and placed his hand on his love’s arm so they could explore paradise together.


End file.
